Re-learning Affection
by Ki-hori-e-te-ao
Summary: On the night of Hogwarts final battle, Percy Weasley stays at home to care for his infant twins, while his Auror wife Audrey goes into battle. With Percy being absent from the final battle, his reconcile never happened. Years later, still estranged Percy Weasley must learn how to re-love people other than his daughters, while learning to accept the love of his family.
1. Chapter 1

Soft snores echo about the flat, not a noise was heard. Not car, nor animal, nor voice broke the silent stare off. Amber bores into azure and words are spoken with a glance. Emotions flicker across the respective gazes, resistance, disapproval, desperation. Tension is heavy in the air, bodies wound up and ready to strike at the slightest anomaly. Finally, thin peach lips move, breaking the eerie silence is a quiet whisper.

"I am going Percy and you can't stop me."

Pale lips purse, his reply muttered, heard only because of the deafening silence.

"Why can't I go? The twins need you, they can survive without a father."

A steely gaze sent, as amber eyes narrow. Azure eyes glare back in defiance.

"Because I am a trained, fully qualified Auror and the longer you keep me here the less of a chance we have of winning this war! So I am telling you, Percy Ignatius Weasley, I am going to apparate to Hogsmeade and you are going to stay here and look after our children!" The whispers are teetering on the edge of a normal talking voice, filled with malice.

The silence is tangible, dark as the night shrouding their flat. He relents, because she is right and he can't help but trust her, because that's all she's ever asked of him. Every action becomes deliberated, the emotion behind it deeper. Lanky limbs move forward, a hair breath between the duo.

"Fine, just come back, please." He pleads, wrapping her in a lingering embrace.

"I'll try Perce..." She says into his chest, smelling his cologne, feeling his intimacy once more, before she leaves to the war that ruined them.

A war that is shattering lives so effortlessly.

Not another word is spoke. A crack sounds and she is travelling miles away, no longer in his loving embrace. He anxiously hopes for her safety, sitting down rigidly. He holds his head in shaking fingers, feeling helpless. She imagines one last kiss with him, before preparing for the worst. In that moment Percy Weasley is his most vulnerable and not that he knows this, but so is Audrey Weasley née Smyth.


	2. Chapter 2

Dawn comes with trepidation as he awakens to the soft whining of Lucy. A torrent of news also comes, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, dead. Death by the magic he yearned to control, at the hands of the boy whom he'd tried to kill countless of times. The news causes a tremor of excitement and pain all at once. Excitement at finally being able to go out of hiding. Pain, because Audrey isn't there. There's no Audrey to celebrate with. Audrey isn't alive.

Percy knows this, as he knows she isn't the only casualty. This knowledge is gained by facts, like the fact that he didn't wake to three beautiful females, but two. Audrey, alive and no matter what the state of her health is-was, will-would always come back to him. Will-would, never leave him alone by choice, her heart is-was, too kind and too large for such a cruel feat. He knows she's gone, in the way Molly and Lucy cry without reason, only the blinding sensation that something is wrong. He knows this because Audrey would send him a letter in the least, to reassure him she is fine, but no letter comes.

Two days later though, he can't stop the tears that trail symmetrically down his flushed cheeks. Nor can he cease the quivering legs or the heavy breaths. In fact, he only holds himself up long enough for someone, Padma Patil if he's right, to gently pry his daughters from his unstable grip. All semblance of hope is lost as he stares at her name, freshly written, just added among the many casualties. She is gone and suddenly it feels real, she's not going to go home ever again. To kiss him ever again. To insult him. His brilliant wife is gone and it hurts so badly.

Hazel eyes stare confused, seven months young infants, are unable to comprehend what's wrong. All they can know, all they feel is sadness and they wail for their silent, in mourning father. Padma watches on in desperation, so glad that her sister is only laying in a coma an apparation away, because she isn't grieving, not like the people surrounding her, because her little sister still has a thirty percent chance at living, thirty percent more than the names crudely written in ink.

All the while, a family of eleven celebrate being alive in a far away Burrow. Because they lost no one and they don't have a gaping hole in their hearts. They don't think of the estranged family member, too relieved to have no casualty, to wonder about the missing person in their puzzle. Because the Weasley family are fine, but the Weasley-Smyth family aren't. Percy hurts so much he can't even articulate properly while the twins just want their father back, whining and squirming for him.

His world is in scattered fragments and ever so slowly, he stands. Piece by piece, he puts his mind, his heavy heart back together again. Tears are wiped, noses are blown and breathing evened. Finally put together, Percy thanks Padma, sturdy arms open to grab his daughters. The two grizzling infants are calm in his grasp, his strong, protective grasp. It still hurts. It still feels unbelievable, but he hugs them tighter and knows he's fine, because he has his, no their daughters. He'll heal from this shock, this disbelief. Molly and Lucy can guarantee that.


	3. Chapter 3

Audrey isn't buried, not like she deserved. A quick, pitying explanation from Madam Pomfrey tells him that she, along with hundreds of others were buried together. Those whom were either unnamed or unclaimed. Apparently they thought she had no next of kin, resulting in her being mass buried. The headstone has yet to be raised, since many others were still getting buried. Madam Pomfrey was quick to assure him that a simple cloning spell made sure she and every other 'brave fighter, bless their souls', received a 'beautiful, ebony coffin'. But that news did nothing to soothe his aching heart, so Percy was left with no closure. No last goodbye, no last kiss, no last I'm sorry. Just heart-wrenching memories, that hurt too much to re-visit in that instance. With a weary sigh, he adjusted his children, each on a respective hip and walked towards Hogs Head, the only place with a connected, child safe Floo Network.

When Percy arrives at thei- no, at his flat, the first thing he does, is coax the twins in to sleeping. Okay, the first thing he really does, is make two bottles of formula and rock his daughters to sleep. Hoping he could just put them down was really naïve of him, so he had to feed them, then clean them, before they dozed off. Fussy girls were just like him, hated a mess, always demanding enough, the twins fall asleep quickly. He thinks vaguely, that Audrey was such an insistent sleeper, always demanding at least ten hours and throwing a fit when the demand's ignored. Just like his daughters, hated falling to sleep but loved sleeping.

Finally, with a moment of peace and no racket, Percy gets up and walks to his office. It hasn't been in use since he'd evacuated the ministry, when they became aware of all the suspicious things he and his wife had mysteriously caused. Since then there had been no reason to use it, but he knew parchments and quils laid around in drawers and he knew he'd need a list to get through this. Ten minutes of lining, re-lining and fiddling with his quil passed, before the first words are jot down. He's made three columns, ruling them with a dusty book.

Things I know.

1\. My name: Percy Ignatius Weasley.  
2\. My wife's name: Audrey Weasley née Smyth.  
3\. My daughter's names: eldest is Molly Joyce Weasley-Smyth and Luciella Weasley-Smyth.  
4\. I am 23-years-old and currently jobless.  
5\. I am a single father.  
6\. I just found out my wife died, because I let her go off to fight war.  
7\. I am a ginormous prat.  
8\. This feeling is the worst feeling in the world and I don't know how to cope by my-self.

Things I need to do.

1\. Visit Audrey's friends incase they don't know.  
2\. Look after the kids.  
3\. Keep living.  
4\. Hope to hell and back that I can do this.  
5\. Get a job somewhere, preferably non-ministry related.  
6\. Pay respects to Audrey's parents.  
7\. Apologise to her parents for not protecting Audrey.  
8\. Try to convince people I'm not crazy for talking to two headstones.

What I need.

1\. Painkillers.  
2\. A shower.  
3\. Re-stock cupboards.  
4\. Visit Gringotts.  
5\. A friend.

Finally finished with the three accurate, if not cynical lists, Percy takes them to his room and spello-tapes them to the wall. With dusk nearing, Percy makes sure to raise the wards around his daughters, then around his house. The day done and dusted, Percy gives both his daughters a longing look when passing their cots, making sure they are safe in the corner. A heavy heart plagues him and he finds himself unable to sleep, no twist and turns helping. So he does something that he knows will help. Grabbing his frayed quil, with feathers that ruffled in his tight grip, he adds one last, shaky word to his what I need column. It's perfect, he thinks, his shaky penmanship being the last thing his blurry sight catches.

The moon stares wistfully at the scrawled word, Audrey gleams in moonlight, each raven letter strangely bright.


	4. Chapter 4

Laying in bed, he thinks about Audrey. It's the first time he's let himself really think about her, not like all those other half-hearted attempts of convincing himself she's fine, but thinking about her in finality. Percy met her on a windy Saturday night. His eyes close and he remembers everything.

It's the first Saturday since Christmas at the Burrow happened and Percy remembers feeling annoyed. Feeling lonely and stressed. Obviously at twenty-years-old the only way to relieve stress is going to the pub. So, he does just that and in some dingy pub on the darker side of Diagon Alley, near Knockturn Alley. It's dark and incredibly un-Percy like, exactly why he chose it. No one will recognise him there and if they do, they will assume it's someone else, no one will know and that's the appeal. To continue the un-Percy-ish behaviour, he underdressed heavily. Jeans that Penelope bought him are worn, as is a flannel Oliver had left at his house some months ago. It's dangerous, dressing so muggle in this time of war, frankly he couldn't care-less though.

The night isn't remarkable or romantic. Drinks come in an abundance and laughter is boisterous, she strolls in and he's so drunk that he's a bit too bold. With a swagger in his step, he walked up and began to talk to her.

A wry smile works its way on to his face as he tries to remember the nonsense they talked about. His memories are hazy, but he's certain a bad joke garners her attention. Something about some elf-wine and an obnoxious American Auror with the punchline, "Elf-fine you hot!". Not the best joke out there, but it gains her attention in the least. Somewhere along her twelfth pint of extra hot butterbeer and his fifth glass of firewhisky, they kiss. A kiss leads to a trip to his flat. Longingly he thinks of her soft ebony hair, of gentle caresses and pleading moans. Rowena knows he misses her.

After the one night stand, she quietly disappeared and he doesn't think anything of it.

Except, she's an Auror and had he known that at the time, he wouldn't have approached the rather attractive women. Because, as sleazy as it may sound, he wanted one night. When ones one-night-stand works in the same place, regardless of how large it is, they will meet again. And they do, to their mutual shock, but, Audrey being Audrey, makes it feel so right. After a week of ignoring her, he realises she's quite brilliant, witty yet kind, strong yet gentle. She worms her way in to his brain, then his life, finally, his heart.

Dates are schedule, visits to the pub. Movies at hers, Quidditch with him. Ice cream and Bertie's beans. Laughing. Reading. It's too much.

Everything became about Audrey. Her smile, filled with a sardonic type of mischief. Eyes that showed everything and nothing at once. The birthmark near her belly button that made her squeal and groan. Soft sensational kisses and caresses. It takes everything he has not to cry and scream, because it's all so ruddy unfair and she was a good person. Her heart was so wide and she cared when no one cared and-and-and she loved him, even when he knew he didn't deserve it. That's what hits him the hardest. He's pathetic, cowardly, he let her die, even though he sent her to her death, she cared enough to keep him from his demise. Too sore. It hurts too much.

A scream trembles, ripples through his throat and tears burn his skin with the intensity of any Acid pop. Why her? Why not him? It hurts, Rowena it hurts. He can't make it stop hurting and he feels so pathetic. So idiotic. This hurts too much. In the corner of Flat 42B, two twins awake frightened screaming their beautiful, crimson heads off. Too lost in pain, Percy doesn't notice for nearly five minutes.

When he notices, he tells himself to grow a pair. With trembling feet he walks over to his M-J and sweet Luciella. Though hoarse and scratchy, he whispers and coos and sings and tries everything to calm his darlings down. It takes a while and he feels frail and unfit, by the Founders he's only twenty-two, he can't handle this alone. It's so unfair. Nothing is right anymore, but he promises, listening to the soft whining of his daughters, that they'll grow up in a word where beautiful, kind people like their mother aren't slaughtered by the dozen. They'll grow up right. He promises.

**Hey. Thanks for reading and a quick heads up, after this the story is more choppy and fast paced, with time-skips and shiz like that. It'll follow a more drabble-like format. Yeah, so bye.**


	5. Chapter 5

Things I need to do:

1\. Visit Audrey's friends incase they don't know.  
2\. Look after the kids.  
3\. Keep living.  
4\. Hope to hell and back that I can do this.  
5\. Get a job somewhere, preferably non-ministry related.  
6\. Pay respects to Audrey's parents.  
7\. Apologise to her parents for not protecting Audrey.  
8\. Try to convince people I'm not crazy for talking to two headstones.

He starts this list, three days after finding out about Audrey; five days after Voldermort's demise.

Done with mourning, he'd paid his first visit to Fei, her best friend. Fei is also dead, as is her child Len, who lays in his mothers grasp terror etched on his face. In a corner crouched and mangled is the corpse of Jack, her muggle boyfriend of eight years. Percy barely has enough time to put his daughters down, before he is retching in a corner far from the corpses which have rotted, infested with maggots, and the vulgar words written in blood in the walls. He stumbles from the corner after ten minutes and floo-calls a Ministry worker, reports the deaths and weakly carries himself and his daughters from the bloodied house.

Next comes visiting Nyssa, Audrey's apprentice. She's an early graduate at seventeen, has been under Audrey's guide for two years. When he finds brave Nyssa, the Greek women who smiled brighter than stars, she's in a corner bawling her eyes out. Grey eyes look, unseeing and she murmurs in gibberish. It's the Cruciatus Curse. Another Floo-call, just to St. Mungo's this time, he stays with her at arms length, hoping for a reply. There is none and he is left only with more despair, two twins wearing at his patience and no will to continue.

Hestia is fine. She has a great chunk of her arm gone, which can't be older than three weeks and she looks tired, but she's fine enough to attack him. After the initial attack and some proof of being him, he sombrely informs the Auror of her comrades death. Hestia takes this news with a resentful frown and amber eyes that have seen far beyond its thirty-one-years. With a final goodbye, he leaves and comes home exhausted. As are the twins.

At home they squirm, they squeal and he can barely take it. He feeds them, they cry. He sings to them, they cry. He reads. Cry. Scream. Wail. The noise is increasing, louder, louder. It's deafening. Nothing is shutting them up. Ever so slowly, his heart is breaking, he has no idea what to do. He shuts down, the world dims and he skids down in front of their cot, props his knees up, burying his head in them in an attempt to shut out the noise. Somewhere along the way, he slowly, slowly manages to wake up and he stands. They've managed to tire themselves out, tears streak their caramel coloured cheeks and their crimson lashes are glued tight.

Angry at himself for overreacting, Percy fetches two face cloths and a bowl of water, before gently cleaning and drying their faces, whispering millions of apologies. Whispering his deepest regrets to his daughters, they breathe silently, not stirring from his actions. When he is done, he lays a kiss on their foreheads, before swiftly making his way to his room, each step is fast, uneven, he shakes yearning for his high. It's the first time in nearly a year. He promises himself it's a one-time thing, that he's not really starting up again, either which way, a cigarette is in his mouth and he smokes.

The nicotine takes away the tense emotions, the disappointment, horror and replace it with a dull dizziness, just like when he started smoking, but the high is better after so many months without. One cigarette turns to two, the three and he wills himself, with all his self-discipline to stop at five. Cracking a window in his study open, he places the carton back in a box, then hides it behind a closet, where he had first hidden it, when Audrey had first asked him to quit. After that, he raises the barriers around the house, takes a long, necessary shower and bask in the hot water rapidly hitting his back.

One goal down, seven more to go. He nearly falls over in exhaustion, at the revelation.

* * *

This... Was not how the chapter was planned, but it's how it went, so here. Okay, after this the Drabble thing should kick in, if not then eh, just know that the story will continue. Sometimes it'll be fast, others it'll be slow. Also, if Percy seems like a prat, he's supposed to, he's a single father raising twins after a war that killed his wife...Obviously it's supposed to mess with his head, so he'll be a douche at times and very nice other times. Why is he a smoke? I don't know, I told you it wasn't planned like this, it just is. Kay. Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

**2\. Look after the kids.**

Sometime around their eight-month mark, which marks two weeks after the battle of Hogwarts, Luce, his youngest child begins to crawl. Albeit it's not perfect. She rises on trembling knees and giggles, places a hand forward, then her leg and then her other hand. Luce takes two sloppy, imperfect struts forward, then falls softly on her stomach.

After that she peers up at him with cerulean eyes a light with mirth and laughs a laugh akin to chiming bells. Percy's heart stops in this moment and the chip on his shoulder disappears, a grin splits his face and he's getting better. MJ gets jealous and decides in that moment to throw her small, wide-eyed teddy at her younger sister.

Laughing lightly, Percy lies on the ground with both his children and mumble incoherent sentences at them, grabbing the unoccupied teddy and playing around with his baby girls'. They reply with vigour, reaching for the toy, clapping and mumbling even less coherent sentences. He thinks he's getting there with number two.

**3\. Keep living.**

There are times, when he wakes up and doesn't move for hours. Nothing stirs him. Not the beaming sun or the revving engines outside. Not the arguing neighbours or the twin's screaming. Those times are rare, but each time it happens the guilt in his stomach gets deeper and heavier. These are the days he smokes a minimum of four fags and looks with a twisted kind of delight at his wand. When he realises two words can end his life.

Usually on those days, two words do save his life. MJ and Lucy. Eventually, on those days he moves. He entertains and feeds his children, while making slow-progressing plans for the future.

Other days, he wakes up ready to face the world. To defeat and conquer the universe. These are the days he sings to his kids, doesn't smoke even one cigarette, when his plans are finished.

These days are rarer than any other types of days, but they're the ones he treasures the most. Filled with breakfasts gone wrong, but still ending in laughter. Where the need for freedom overwhelms paranoia and he can walk with them to the park, albeit there's still a many number of protection charms over them. Days when he's free of all the pain war caused.

Most days are normal. Percy wakes up, via crying or mumbling babies that never sleep a minute past seven. Where he has enough will and everything he plans and does advances bit by bit. These days he has a minimum of a half a fag, where he sighs heavily at his troublesome duo, but still manages to smile at them. Days where he's not quite at their beck and call, but still there, can still hear them, when he's not lost in grief. When redemption is still possible.

It's a work in progress, but he's getting there.

**4\. Hope to Hell and back I can do this.**

Everyday, he hopes to the proverbial Hell that he can do this. This task deserves the quick cross he marked through it.

**5\. Get a job somewhere, preferably non-ministry related.**

Percy takes a look at that task, a look at his daughters and thinks, no. That can wait for just a little while longer. It helps that Junior Undersecratary to the Minister, or bum boy as his wife had mockingly exclaimed, had a very good pay, even when Pius was Minister of Magic.

More so, it helped that Audrey was from perhaps one of the oldest Pureblood families in the entire U.K and she was sole heiress to their fortune. Percy also takes note of a rather lavish amount of land in Ireland and thinks, maybe moving would be a good thing to add to his agenda.

**6\. Pay respects to Audrey's parents.**  
**7\. Apologise to her parents for not protecting Audrey.**  
**8\. Try to convince people I'm not crazy for talking to two headstones.**

These lucky task, come up within the same day. Happily, number eight was unnecessary, as the no one was around the private cemetery. He takes note that it's a family cemetery and already has plans for a headstone and the date in which it will be raised.

Apologising caused a rather minor breakdown, that he'd very much loath talking about and ended with Lucy hugging him and MJ wiping his tears away as best as her dark, tiny fingers could manage. After the breakdown, when his tears had tried and his chest stopped heaving, because in all honesty the apology was for his mocha haired wife, more than it was for his parent's in law.

After that ordeals, he marks that list with mostly crosses _(1,4,6,7,8,)_ two work in progress _(2,3)_ and one crossed out beyond reading _(5)_. This, is where he starts his next list. This is also where he puts away a chapter of his life.

It's been two months and eight days since Audrey's death and he's ready to move on. She's not dead, not in his heart, she'll always be alive there, but he thinks he can bury the pain and loneliness her death caused. Thinks he can start a new chapter, just him and his children. Right now, that's all he needs. Thinkings aren't better, per se, but they're advancing and one day, the promise he swore to his children will be fulfilled. One day soon, hopefully.

* * *

**I apologise if this update took a while and for any mistakes, but I did warn the readers that I am terrible at updating. And if I actually haven't warned the readers of what a terrible updater I am and am just spouting lies, then you've been warned. So, sorry for the wait, it took me a while to decide how to lay this chapter out and where it lead and stuff. Also, just to clarify, Audrey, my Audrey Smyth is dark-skinned and her daughters inherited that and have red hair, which will turn browner as they get older. They also have dark blue-y black-ish eyes. **

**Does my portrayal of the children go against everything I learnt about Bio in science class? Yes. Do I care? Not really. **

**Anyway, thank you for reading thus far and if you want, you may continue it when I next update. If you think at this stage it sucks, then by all means, don't read it. Again, thank you and hopefully I'll (proverbially) see you again.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Ireland.**

There were two options Percy had. The legal by the books, each conduct in line and completely straight and narrow way, his way, or the wayward, loop-holed, questionably legal yet still within some morals way, Audrey's way. His choice, when he carefully weighed them, was quite simple.

A) Follow the rules, ask for help in the crumbling Wizard society and trust someone who might be an undercover Death Eater with personal information. His way.

Or...

B) Disappear in the disarray, make like he never existed and bend the law as far as possible, preserving a possibly safer future. Audrey's way.

Okay, technically the second one was more like Audrey. not actually her way, he knows she'd be too considerate to drop off the face of earth and leave literally no trace of her existence. But, it's his way and no matter what, she'd support him. (After a few colourful, relatively harmless hexes.)

Towing a heavy suitcase behind him and pushing one large, double seated stroller, Percy cast a simple glamour and smiles. He never was as considerate as her, he thinks plane ticket and fake passports in hand.

Percy Weasley is gone, Tangius Prewett is born, with his two daughters Joy and Cecilia.

_"Passports please."_

_"Of course, here you go Sir."_

_"Your name is Tag-ny-us Prewett?"_

_"No, the 'g' is silent, it's Tanius."_

_"Right, well, have a good flight Mr. Prewett."_

**First word.**

Molly's first word isn't Dad, no matter how many times he repeated that word. Actually, as soon as more coherent ahh's left her mouth, he'd been trying to convince his oldest to say dad. Hours and hour wasted and her first word?

"No."

Admittedly, the little rascal and her sister fought tooth and nail, attacking each other far too often, so he had to scold them! It's not his fault he says no one too many times.

He still sulks in the corner, looking aghast at his dark, grinning, beautiful eldest, she grins triumphantly.

Behind her sister, Lucy giggles and claps her hand together, before pulling her sister back, unsuccessfully coaxing MJ to play tag with her.

**Moving.**

It takes him a week after finishing his task, a month after visiting Audrey's parents, he decides to move. The twins are nearing the one year mark and while Lucy could run ungraceful laps around MJ, MJ could out talk her sister as though it was second nature. Though, most of MJ's vocabulary consisted of 'No!', 'Dah', 'Naughty' and 'Yes'

The two were growing up evidently and Percy won't lie, the pride in his chest is more than slightly tangible. He finds himself unable to leave their presence, left with pictures of rotting corpses, bloody walls and wails of protest when he takes his eyes off his children. Admittedly, he's paranoid. Percy feels the paranoia chill his bones at night, fueling his need for nicotine as he strengthens the wards around his house and walks as far as possible from his kids in their cramped apartment. He cracks a window open and he pulls the auto-refill packet from his scruffy coats jacket.

His fingers run against light stubble and he entertain the idea of shaving, before he lights his smoke with a simple, wandless incantation. That's when he sees it, a half smoked cigarette falls to the ground in an almost clichéd fashion. In the distant dark sky, painted against the ebony backdrop is the most terrifyingly familiar symbol, the symbol of a snake curved around the skulls head. Suddenly, the brief security he had crumbles.

Percy dashes inside, even though he knew no stronger wards, he places every ridiculous protection spell he knows on the house. He throws even more ridiculous charms and glamours of the twins and he paces, trying to find a solution.

Two weeks later his solution comes in the form of some rather illegal fake id's, a good few hundred thousand knuts and sickles, some hundred converted pounds and two days of tedious arguments with unpleasant and greedy Gringott workers.

**Birthing, teething, walking.**

When the twins were first-born, mid-December, prior to the war, he held his wife through her whopping twenty-three hour labour and thought that the hardest was over as he held one daughter and Audrey's hand, watching Audrey hold his other darling.

They have her skin colouring and her hair texture, but his eye structure and hair colour, he thinks vaguely.

Three and a half months later when he holds an exhausted Audrey in his arms, thinking of the amount of files they just burnt and lives they'd saved, MJ cries and throws the worse tantrum ever. Her little lungs wheeze and her face turns purple, her shouts prompting Lucy to wail as well. An hour later when Audrey comes back with a teary eyed yet quiet MJ and a newly brewed teething potion, he thinks the worst is over.

While laying Lucy down next to Molly, he notes the way they sleep. Lucy is Audrey, curled up next to her big sister in the way Audrey did with him. Molly is him, not quiet holding her sister, but still unconsciously close to each other. It's a random yet comforting thought.

At nine months, Lucy jumps up and walks. She takes five steps, each ungraceful and shaky, but her dark blue eyes gleam in delight and she smiles at him with the force of the sun. Percy feels a phantom pain ache in his heart and when Lucy slips and falls into his embrace, he holds her tight and congratulates her in the way Audrey would, feeling his limbs frost from within.

MJ looks displeased, he notes when he sees her watching the from the middle of the room, so with forced light heartedness, he picks Lucy up and stalks over to Molly, entertaining the two. He knows the worst has passed, knows that little bumps will pop up again, that nothing is perfect, but he'll work through it. He breathes the restrained tears away and smiles, because he deserves to be a proud doting father, not some pitiful sod who'd lost his bird. MJ is pleased with the acknowledgement, so she offers him a goofy smile, before grabbing her crayon and scribbling against the paper.

**Ignorance.**

Admittedly, Fred and George are still angry, so them searching, or even being included in the plans was a 'No' since Molly began thinking about it. Molly's argument is that they might hurt Percy more and that they need responsible adults involved in this private search.

_She didn't know that Fred was already studying how to replicate the Marauders map, though on a larger scale, to find Percy. Molly also didn't know that sometimes, since he left nearly three years ago, George sneaks into Percy's room, lies on the bed and thinks about everything he'd say to Percy. The twins don't tell anyone, even each other, that they miss Percy and hope he isn't like Colin Creevey, whom they found dead at Hogwarts. They wouldn't cope well, being a Dennis Creevey, someone who lost their older brother, no matter how prattish Percy seemed._

Ron gets denied because he has his plate filled with stuff to do. Being an Auror trainee, rebuilding Hogwarts and trying to live as a normal teenage wizard was a lot of work. Adding looking for his older brother who he may be angry with and has no proof of ever being alive save family photos didn't help. For that reason Harry and Hermione were kept from the knowledge that Percy's existence was wiped away from this universe as well, Hermione was too busy helping with the construction of new bills pertaining to half-blood rights and Harry had Teddy, Ginny and Death Eaters to think about.

_Arthur didn't know that Ron once got drunk and in a fit of pure rage, broke several glasses at his, Hermione and Harry's flat. That he sobbed and asked why they were never enough for Percy. Questioned the worth of their family and why he still l irrevocably loved and respected his older brother; why Percy wouldn't even apologise after everything the Weasleys' went through after the war._

Ginny is the youngest, so automatically they don't tell her. It's the right thing to do.

_One night Ginny hears Charlie talk about another dead-end and thinks maybe Charlie was helping with some Death Eaters, she thought nothing of it, until Percy's name comes up. When she learns the truth, about Percy being missing, about burnt files and dead bodies and false leads, she vomits in a waste bin in her room. The silencing spell ensures her privacy as she wallows, wondering why she's never trusted with any information._

Bill gets a surprise, Fleur is pregnant. Unable to pull the doting father away from his wife, they keep him in the dark about Percy's disappearance and all the anomalies surrounding it.

_Yet Bill feels the guiltiest. He failed as the oldest brother, so he recover that failure and reshaped it into love. He dotes on unborn child in his wife's stomach and dreams of a day where he can repent for being such a crappy older brother._

Arthur and Molly's only option is Charlie. He is the one charged with the weight of responsibility. Charlie follows false leads with hope-filled eyes and yearning to embrace his younger brother. The one who prays and searches and waste every second of his day looking for a ghost.

Seven months later the truth comes out, they refuse to remain ignorant and accept what they know as truth. Percy is missing. He has been for months. The chances are he's dead. The truth is out for the first time in forever, but nothing is well. Percy Weasley is gone.

In Dublin, Tangius Weasley holds his stomach, laughing raucously as a pair of one year old twins attack him, intent on getting the two sweets from his hands, yet they were restrained in their car seats.

"Mine!" Cecilia yells, pointing at the chocolate frog in his hand.

"Dad.." Joy moans, bend forward to grasp the packet of Bertie's beans.

Smiling while shaking his head, Tanius passes a small, very minuscule piece of chocolate to Cecilia, which she munches on happily and gives Joy a single blue jelly bean, which she enjoys thoroughly. Tanius revs the engine and slowly backs out of the town center, driving home.

The repairing family of three are ignorant to the pain felt in a London, so many miles and miles away, as they slowly drive home.

* * *

**Right, hopefully this was alright and if you feel confused, I could clarify anything if you wanted, just ask me and I'll try my best. Just so you know, these don't actually go in chronological order, they're in random order but all happen within nine to ten months of each other, so when the twins are nine months to a bit pass their first birthday. Thank you for reading and all that jazz. I'm trying to keep the story a little more light hearted. (Not because my sister reckons I can only write sad, angst stories. Nope, not at all...)**


	8. Chapter 8

**New Beginnings.**

Percy is not creative. He doesn't brood with a record player playing sad sounds as he draws wondrous pictures nor is he able to whip up a quick, poetic sonnet furthermore woe is most definitely not him. So, you can't expect him to sit days upon days pondering about significant meanings and deep-seeded desire when he's trying to quickly disappear. No, he just does not think like that.

Everything is usually simple, clean cut and clear. He sees it all laid out so ethically, because he is Percy Weasley. So, he looks at his middle name and quickly takes a few letters away, rearrages it and hello Tagnius. Percy is aware that Tagnius is an outright stupid name, but he's met an Apple and two Orange's in his twenty-one years, so in comparison Tagnius is a quite tame name.

So, here goes his quick beginnings.

**Forget-me-not**

In all fairness, he doesn't feel it often. It's not like everyday passes and he wishes he wasn't a father. Most everyday is spent gushing over them in fact, but still, every now and then the urge surfaces. A passing thought, a vindictive desire. Percy tries to hide this desire, under layers of smiling bubble baths, sweets when he thinks it's alright and dancing to soft sounds. But, sometimes it's hard to ignore.

He loves his children. If necessary he's prepared to endure days being 'Crucioed', just to save them, but Percy remembers sometimes.

Remembers a life a while back, just two years ago, before his babies and before Audrey. When it was just him and his broken pride. Despite struggling for money, he managed to actually live. Percy remembers the first time he entered a club and even though he'd been wearing slacks, a dress shirt, a vest and a jacket, he blended in. Was apart of the crowd, not an out cast. Remembers faces, flashing lights and alcohol dancing in the air. There were no barriers, no muggle or wizard, no Slytherin or Gryffindor, no difference. Everyone was there for a good time and he wasn't just an outcast. Those were the days.

Weekends spent dancing and drinking, making something out of his dreary life. Where he could forget about work and all it's subtle complications.

He admits that he feels guilty soon afterwards, but it's not something he can just stop. He's twenty-one and young, feeling a little self-pitying is kind of normal, so says the amount of books he's read. It doesn't make anything better, but at least it makes him feel like he's not the worst being in the world.

**Repairing Dreams**

Way back when, so long ago when Percy's mind was filled with naïve, idealistic hope, he'd dreamt of a home in the country side. He wanted to wake to the sun kissing his skin and go to sleep to the dull echo of barn-yard animals. Wanted to raise his family in a house where they all owned two rooms each, with enough money to find a spare galleon or two in between couch cushions. Instead he ends up owning a modest, four bedroom house, with a kitchen, a living room and two bathrooms, all on a very large plot of land.

Paper work is hell. Several hundred meetings with so many greedy goblins later, Percy finally secures the Symth family land under the alias of Taginus Prewett and he's greeted with a dusty house. It's dirty, crawling with insects and lingering charms and curses, but it inspires him. Ignites that dull, naïve way of thinking he thought he'd lost several years ago. He can see it all so clearly in his mind, can envision his children growing up here, in this modest house. He pictures a playroom there, a library here and can actually see himself making this house. No this home. So he does.

Temporarily, he moves his stuff into the master bedroom. Which isn't a particularly difficult feat. He has all of eight outfits for him, a random yet decently portioned amount of clothes for his children and four toys. Luckily the house is filled with odd knickknacks that he could use to speed along the moving process. Unluckily they proved a hassle to relocate.

All in all, it takes two weeks for him to set up and plan the layout of his new home, but it's worth it Tagnius thinks, repairing his damaged dreams.

**Tracking and beginnings to an end.**

Before the seven months were up, when the joy of winning the war had subsided slightly and Molly had first attempted to look for her Percy, she'd been directed by a Ministry worker to her sons flat in middle London, where Muggle and Wizard England brushed shoulders. Except it takes a week for her to find the flat, buried under a good few layers of charms and curses that she could mostly disable. It was the itching powder vile stench from any number of curses existing, that she got caught up in. He doesn't open the door that day, or the next, or even the day after that and suddenly panic floods over her like a storming rainfall and she uses that nonchalance used in the war, to convince herself breaking and entering was worth it.

The flat was cozy and from the looks of it, unoccupied. A thin layer of dust clouds the room. It's enough to make her body shake in horror as she sees little signs that her son lived there.

A copy of _Prefects Who Gained Powers,_ _The Tale of Beetle The Bard _in the corner and even that odd _My Life As a Muggle_ book that he re-read several times during his last year of school. Trembling she opens these books and sees inside of each copy, the cursive stroke that indicated Percy's books. _This Novel Belongs to Percy. I. Weasley. _In the closets are some clothes, most are his and she sees a few small boxes in the corner, probably with his older clothes. Nothing about the house screams invasion and by the way everything was left all she can guess is, he left and never came back.

What if he's dead? The thought strikes her coldly and what does she do? What can she do? How do you cope with losing a child? Merlinssake she nearly lost it when her brothers died. She remembers how unresponsive she was for weeks after that, until her darling Percy shyly asked her what's wrong. Her baby Percy is gone and the thoughts whizz through her head with a likeliness of a tornado. Tears brushing the corners of her eyes, Molly bows her head, takes a deep breath and pulls her wand from her pocket.

Molly Weasley apparates home with a heavy heart, preparing herself to tell Arthur that their son is missing.

Flickering in the corner, hidden under dozens of glamours, is a small photo frame of Percy and Audrey holding their children at the hospital. It goes unseen, yet glimmers with their smiling faces.

* * *

**Yeah, no reason for the late update at all. I'm trying to get this story going a bit faster, but I want at least the bare-minimum of what everyone was feeling and what they felt during the first few months after the war. Plus I've seen how difficult parenting is and I think for a single parent such as Percy, it's difficulty is timed by tens. Yes, so thank you for reading this far.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Bus rides.**

The nearest town was two hours away. Which, to Tagnius was an easy enough feat. A quick bus ride with the girls and they're there. Easy enough. Except, two hours on a bus, with muggy weather and one-year-old twins, is not a good combination. Especially when said twins enjoyed hitting one and another, enjoyed running around and were prone to crying simultaneously or directly after one and another.

"Cecelia stop running around."

"Joy, don't hit your sist- You don't go hitting her ba- Cut it out!"

"Shush, please. C'mon, it's alright, calm down."

Being a parent is trying. That being said, the ride home was usually a lot better.

"Those yours?" The old lady beside him asked, indicating to the sleeping twins occupying his shoulders.

He smiles gently, "Yeah, they are," he answers smiling through Joy's curls.

"I remember the times boy, but I tell you, take your eyes off them for a second and you'll be looking at a full grown adult," she murmurs, dark eyes twinkling with knowledge.

He smiles back at the woman, picking up the bag at his feet and holding it in his fingers, before manoeuvring his way forward and leaving the kind lady with a farewell.

**Bath time.**

Contrary to many jokes and anecdotes he's heard, bath time is a rather fun time. His children enjoy splashing around in water for hours on end. The difficult task, was coercing them to leave the bath.

"C'mon time to get out."

His children ignore him, sliding in the tub.

"Joy, Cecelia time to dry up."

They grin at him, freckles and all, before continuing to splash each other. Then, in an act of bravery, they both decided splashing him was the best option. Wiping his wet glasses, he sighs before tugging the two wiggling children from the bath.

And the next night goes in a similar manner. As does the night after that. Another night. So on and so forth, so much so that he thinks maybe it's time to reintroduce the taking bath together routine. He'd get out drier in the end.

**Building a home and other mishaps.**

He thinks, on a regular drizzling day, that maybe trying to build a whole home by himself was a bit too ambitious, even with the help of many incantations. His back aches and if he's right, the twins are due to wake soon. Sighing, he hauls a new block of wood forward, watching as five other blocks lead him, nailing themselves as to properly build the frame. It's in the second where eight hammers are simultaneously pounding nails, that he hears a loud wail.

If it was a year and a half ago, he wouldn't have worried. Would've shrugged it off as a figment from his mind and left if at that. But something parenting books do not say, is that a side effect of being a parent, is constant and scarily accurate paranoia. So, whipping around, Tagnius lets his long slender legs run with adrenaline, nearly tripping multiple times in the mud.

When he reaches his destination, two meters from the front door, his heart pumps. Then again. It's speeding up and beating like a tone deaf person playing the drums, the rapid beats drowning out the sound of rain and enveloping fear.

"Joy," he breathes as his daughter sobs.

"Joy."

"Joy!" He tears through the rain and swiftly brings her into an embrace, wondering how on earth she got outside without alerting his sensory wards.

"D-d-daddy!" Her face, dripping wet digs into his equally wet singlet.

"It's alright my honey, come here," he whispers comfortingly, running to dry and change her.

By the time they reach their room, her sobs have receded into a soft whimper and she clutches him for dear life when he tries to lay her down. It takes fifteen minutes to convince her to let go, dry here and change her into some warm, dry clothes. Finally changed and clean, but most importantly, dry, he lays her next to her still sleeping baby sister. Then he whispers sweet nothings into her ear, until the small yet wide-eyed gaze is no more. Eyes close, she worries not, though anxiety eats away at him like a ravenous piranha. How could he be so careless!

Something knots itself into Tagnius' stomach and with fumbling fingers he reaches into his bedside table bringing his cigarettes to his mouth. Lips chattering, he pulls one fag out and walks outside, lighting it in spite of the rain and wind.

One cigarette butt is on the floor and he quickly burns his way through the second one, barely exhaling before he inhaled once again. The nicotine burns his nose and his throat gets raspier, while the minutes tick by, but all he's aware of is the beating of his heart and the shock he felt when he saw his daughter soaking in the rain. He remembers her wails and the fear grips him.

Eight cigarettes later he breathes deeply, coughs to reassure himself that his throat isn't just uncomfortable smoke and tar. Then he walks in to his room, stashes the leftover cigarettes, which is four and brushes his teeth, before sitting down and watching his daughters. They sleep for ten and thirty minutes respectively, Cecelia waking up dazed, before spotting her father and sending a cheeky grin. Joy wakes up to the smell of scrambled eggs, toast and water.

**Growing, musing and bad habits.**

He's seen other kids grow up. The twins, Ron, Ginny. Seen them go from playing with stuffed toys, to laughing at garden gnomes and then toy broomsticks. So he has his fair share of experience when it comes to raising children, because he's an older brother. An admittedly odd older brother, but either which way, he's watched people grow up. It just doesn't feel quite as real, until you watch your children grow up.

Tagnius is well aware that his two babies growing up was inevitable. The fact that it's four in the morning and his eyes are struggling to stay open does nothing to hinder that knowledge. It's just... It's just that he still remembers holding them after they'do just been cleaned. How they were covered in creases, like two pieces of raisins and that they could both lie comfortably in his arms as he stared with wonder towards his two bundles of everything. But, now they're three and they're both, ever so slowly learning how to read.

It's mystifying how a year ago today, on this very day, they'd celebrated they're birthday in they're newly built house. How the twins had asked what a birthday was and smiled so happily at the new presents they got. Everything was just moving so fast.

Tagnius stretches on the seat he'd occupied so leisurely, then his hands sifted on their own accord. The packet was out, cigarette in his mouth and lit before he could even breathe loudly. Tar blankets his mouth quickly and fills his nose in an irritating way, before gently out-flowing from his nostrils. It feels uncomfortable and icky in a way that once upon a time made his stomach flip, tumble and turn. Now it feels like greeting an old friend.

He relishes in the moment of rare, soft silence. Gazes wistfully at his children, blows out one last huff, before butting it out and storing the half-smoked fag in his full packet. Thank Merlin that the wizarding community here was more tolerant of smoking, because he never did see a reimbursing packet of cigarettes in Diagon Alley. With that thought in mind, he stands to brush his teeth, stretches and smiles. Salazar's hide they were growing up.

* * *

**Hey-o. Nice to see you again, thank you for reading this far. My not-updating was a combination of laziness, schoolwork, growing up and joining social-events. Despite hating social stuff. With that, thanks again for reading, yes I did put a huge time skip in the story, because reading about babies for a year will undoubtedly get boring. If you wanted to know, yes I also make Percy smoke a lot, because I'm trying to portray him as an addict who won't admit he's addicted. Kay, bye and one last thanks.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Schooling: The life and times of the terrible twins.**

Tagnius Prewett believed he'd raised very nice, very responsible children. He also liked to ignore the bangs and smashes that came out of their play room as often as possible, trusting them to only cause minimal and reversible damage, which doesn't really say much about his judgement skills.

Yet still, despite their loud -_ oh so very loud_\- personalities, he liked to believe that they'd never do anything stupidly callous.

All of this well-meaning and slightly skewered trust had unfortunately lead to his driving to school in a frenzy, a cigarette quickly burning through his lips and it's ashes burning fragments of his skin. It did not particularly help that his license, his full license, was also very new and more than slightly illegal and his automobile is easily damaged, second-hand goods.

Nevertheless, it was only their second day at school, he moaned out watching the road for on-coming cars. Luckily there were few cars on the road, which meant less things to worry about.

With quick and impeccable timing, Tagnius speedily -_and with a questionably legal technique_\- parked into the school car park and spat out the burning cigarette from his mouth, before crumpling it under his suede shoes and straightening his appearance as he walked in.

The receptionist greeted him with fluttering eyelashes, before ushering him into the principals office by his sweater-clad arm

"Hullo ," the strict principal, who's name he couldn't quite remember, greeted.

"Greetings, Miss," he says, letting his eyes flicker to her name plate before seating.

Connor, his mind registered slowly.

To his left sits another woman with dark curls and a tight face screaming fury. He nearly shrunk into himself at her narrowed glance, she looked like she was burning ice with such a facial. A small flash of dark eyes zips in and out of his mind before he has the time to ponder about it.

"Glad to see you could make it," the woman spat out.

Before Tagnius could reply though, a bitter and higher voice answered

"Like you're any better."

"Do not speak to me like that Dean," the woman warned, focused to someone on her right.

Looking to the woman's right, he saw a sight for sore eyes. A young boy with sandy hair and heavy bruising on his dark arms, next to him were two very familiar looking auburn-haired girls, wearing rumpled clothes and messy hair.

The unclear events quickly pieced together and he made an educated guess as to why he was here.

An unimpressed looks flashed across his face, but his daughters look studiously away from him.

A cough interrupts his inner monologue and he faces the principal, unconsciously straightening his composure.

"Being frank, Mr. Prewett, I did not expect to see you so soon and I certainly hope we do not make this a habit."

He takes her prolonged silence as permission to talk and with a sheepish look, he reassures her that it will not become a habit.

"Now that we've gotten that out of the way, we are here to discuss the punishment of your children," she gives the two adults a pointed glance, ",as of now, the events remain unclear, but from the looks of things, Mr. Brown provoked your children, Mr. Prewett, however Ms. Smyth, that is Joy, was the first one to resort to physical brutality."

The guardian of Dean looks at Tagnius with utter disgust and he barely holds in a sigh, in the face of this Mrs. Connor is painstakingly neutral.

"However, considering this is not the first time we have been faced with complaints about Mr. Brown, I am willing to compromise if you will," she stares the two adults down and they meet her gaze with equal amounts of hesitance, "Ms. Smyth and Ms. Smyth will have their playtime, both recess and interval time, revoked for a week, in which they will think upon the consequent of their actions."

She stops, getting a look of acceptance from both the parents, if not a bit shrewd by the women next to Tagnius.

"Mr. Brown, however, will spend his interval and recess time writing two page long apologies, one to both the Smyth twins and one to the teacher who was forced to break up their fight, Mr. Richard's."

There is a cough of affirmation from the woman to his left.

"If we are clear here, then I believe you two may go and your children can get back to class."

Nodding they both leave the office tense.

**Sunday Playdate's.**

Apparently living the hard life in detention really helps a friendship bloom.

Dean, Joy and Cecelia get along swimmingly. Suffice to say that is a disaster in the making.

In the span of two-weeks since their detention ended, Tagnius has had four formality phone-calls about well everything. Hair-pulling, food throwing, scuffles and painting each other- not to mention what they did to the _other_ kids in their class.

He's also had parents glare at him and quietly usher their children away from his. It's kind of offensive. All in all he's hoping his daughters can get some normal friends. No, they decided to befriend Dean-I-Punched-You-'Cause-Your-Twins Brown.

Which leads him here, on a Sunday where he could be in bed watching Cartoons with his kids nestled in his arms, _Teen Titans _or _Powerpuff Girls_ playing while they ate cold cereal and drank juice.

Instead he had to get out of bed and prepare them for a day at the Brown household.

They were a pain to get out of bed and five times he's had to pull whatever vaguely blanket-like object Cecelia had hidden herself under and shake her awake. Twice he'd had to pry whatever faerie novel Joy had from her fingers, he thinks she's on the Cake Fairies, if the library notice he had was correct.

Finally at eight thirty, six naps and a book later, he'd gotten them both dressed in shorts and a top. He wasn't sure what they'd do today, but he knew that his girls were rather proactive and Dean couldn't stay still too long. He'd even gone the distance and braided Joy's hair, Cecelia had opted to wear a thick black head-band instead, not liking it when her father brushed her hair, she always complained that he was too soft in brushing her knotted hair.

At nine o'clock he arrives at the Brown household to a welcoming smile from an unfamiliar dark haired woman with eyes that remind him of the moon and amethyst jewels and an intricate scar marring her in an almost ethereal way. He shakes his head at the thought.

"'Lo there, is this the Brown household?" He asked, his children smiling upwards.

Without his consent, his fingers shake and he feels awfully unarmed without his wand. Nearly six years since the war and somethings still couldn't change.

"Yeah, you must be Mr. Prewett, Dean's been expecting you," she answers in a glossy, elegant tone.

Ushering his kids inside, he watches the friendly woman holler out.

"Vati love, Dean's friends are here!"

With quite possibly the quickest reaction time ever, he watches as an orange blur races to his children from the top of the stairs.

"Cee, Joy!" He shouts in excitement.

"Dean," they greet.

In a second they do a series of gestures that most probably resemble a handshake.

He feels himself relax slightly, reminding himself where he was and who he was and who his children were.

"Greetings," says the woman he'd met at the meeting nearly a month ago, her tone formal and stiff.

"Hullo," he greets with a forced smile.

An awkward silence takes over the room as the adults stare at each other.

"Well then, it's nice to finally meet you, I'm Dean's Mum and- well you've already met Vati, she's my partner," Ms. Brown says, going to hold Vati's hand.

Tagnius' eyes light in understanding, but still he can't find the will to say anything, not accustomed to dealing with people for long periods of time. Sunday playdates will go by swimmingly, he thinks dejectedly.

**Daddy we've a secret to tell!**

He's not too certain how he's going to tell the kids about magic. Really he just wants them to know without having to say a word, but the rules in Ireland were quite different from the rules he'd been taught.

Their wizarding community was far more withdrawn, much more secretive than England's, what with being a more religion based population. Their magical kind preferred isolated corners and unknown places, in fear of the scorn magic received, unlike England's more hidden in plain sight type of move. Which is to say he learned pretty quickly not to talk or linger in magical places, too many people knew each other and even seven years on since th- since everything happened, he still had small habits he couldn't stop adhering to; like staying politely and well and truly out of the limelight.

Tagnius doesn't purposely or callously leave the magic thing a secret, it just never came up. He only ever visited the magical side of Carlingford once, it was small and slightly rustic in some spaces, but in others it was slightly more advanced than what he remembered of- of his past. Or at least, he thought so after his first and last visit there six years ago.

There's no set plan on how he tells them, mostly because every plan he thinks of makes his heart sink when he remembers green streaking the sky and vicious shouts and the stench of- he breathes lightly.

It's one of those rare times where he's wondering what to say and how to say it when he says it, when suddenly his seven-year old daughters are running up to him with a bowl of gunk in their hands. Idly he wonders about how they were trying their hand in science much more lately, probably spurred by the weird black-hole high-school show he's seen them watch at Dean's.

Their faces glow as they hold up the bubbling concoction.

"Er...shall I ask or...?" He glances at his daughters, watching as they both held a round plastic container up.

"Look daddy, look," Cecelia out stretches her free hand to pull him forward.

Placing his coffee down on the bench, he kneels before them, a tight knot of dread coursing through his system. He loved his daughters very much, they were just a bit too inquisitive for his good sometimes.

"So, what's this then?"

"It's an experiment," Joy states voice ecstatic.

Nodding he watches as his daughters argue lightly in their quest to explain the experiment to him.

"We saw it on video at Dean's, these girls put some things in a bowl and then wished for stuff and it happened," Joy explains lost in her excitement.

"But then at the end they got haunted by these weird bugs and a screaming thing," Cecelia interjects.

"Yeah, but it's all so... so fascinating, the fizzing the pops, the plants just coming back to life," Joy inputs.

Sighing, Tagnius looks at the junk in the bowl, it looks mostly like dirt, some plants, water, he even notices a full flower and coloured bubbles, but does not question it.

"I didn't think anything will happen really,"Joy practically preened, ",but.. well, we want you to know something."

He chuckles at her serious tone.

"Dad," Joy began with a look at her sister.

Grinning at his little seven year olds, he nods so they know to continue.

"We think," Joy starts.

", and please don't panic," her sister continues

",but we're..." They glance at each other again.

"We're witches dad!" They scream.

Time stops.

He watches their coloured eyes light up in sincerity and curiosity.

Then he decides to cough out a lung, because that was obviously the best answer he had.

"Do-do you believe us dad?" They intone, holding hands at the question.

Gulping down another fit, he looks them straight in the eye and smile.

"Of course I do, after all, I am a wizard," he explains thoroughly.

Cecelia pushes him slightly, breaking away from her sister and glaring him down.

"Daddy this isn't something to joke about," she pouts out, wild curls springing in front of her hair.

"I'm not joking, there's something I've been meaning to tell you actually..." He trails off a scratching his neck sheepishly.

It takes a few second for them to realise he's telling the truth, he expects them to be angry with him, but instantly their eyes light up and they question him about everything.

"Can I fly?"

"Can you fly?"

"Do we _really_ have magic?"

"Where's your wand?"

"Do you ride a broom?"

"Can you get me a Barbie and Swan Lake DVD with magic?"

"Or a VHS player, maybe even a DVD player?"

"Are you powerful?"

"Can we see your magic?"

"...Was Mum a witch..?"

Raising a hand to signal they quiet down, he runs a hand through their damp and wild curls, grin on his face before he whispers out an answer.

"You're mother was the most brilliant witch I'd ever known," he admits.

They glow at that, hugging him in blind happiness. He wishes this would last forever.

* * *

**Hey look who it is I've arisen and finished a chapter of fluff...Okay, thanks for reading, hope to figuratively see you next chapter and maybe I'll be done writing about their childhood soon..**


	11. Chapter 11

**Dean.**

Tagnius, he's- he's different from Percy. Tagnius hates how it's been seven years but at night he still lies awake and thinks about Percy. He hates how it's not constant. How he can go days without thinking about Percy. About all the bad memories and the war that still plagues him at night. But then he's left alone with his thoughts too long and his breath just stops and the world zeroes in, tight, dark, empty almost.

He lives on this constant half and half bridge. Who is he, Tagnius or Percy? A coward who ran away from his family or a loving father who ran away _for_ his family? It's too much and on those nights he lays awake, wishing the blankets could swallow him whole.

To add to the mess of his life, is Dean Brown. Some months into Dean's friendship with his daughters, he accepts that Dean is now a member of the Prewett-Smyth household, so much so that he has a mattress and his own Thomas the tank engine sheets and pillowcase. Likewise his daughters always had a spare bag packed, filled with three days worth of clothes, really just two days and an extra pair just in case with spare toiletries, put on the coat hanger in their room. Tagnius folds the clothes and organises these bags meticulously every Thursday, prepared for the questions they will ask on Friday afternoon. Most Sunday's these bags come back with the clothes stuffed inside, sometimes with toothpaste smeared against the clothes from sloppily capped toothpaste. On the nicer days the clothes have been washed, dried and ironed by Dean's mothers.

He takes these bags filled with clothes almost every other Monday morning, washes them and soaks them when the toothpaste sticks to the clothes too stubbornly. He bleaches the dirt and learns more about caring for clothes in the months this friendship happens then he has in the years he'd raised them, because though they were messy children with Dean they were messier by tenfold. He learned to knit and how to stitch patches and he learnt the absolute fear of caring for someone else's kid.

There were these imaginary boundaries that separated him from investing himself into Dean's life.

He knew what to do with the girls. They were his girls. His daughters and love had bonded the two to him the moment his wife had told him about being pregnant. But Dean was a choice. He could choose whether or not he cared for Dean. It was rude and cynical but it was a comfort of his because choosing meant that he had a degree of control. That if he managed to screw this all up, like he'd done so often in his life, the consequences laid not with him but with Dean's family.

However, no matter the walls he built or the forced nonchalance, Dean manages to imprint himself unto the life Tagnius lived.

He gets Dean a Christmas present in the names of his children, a few Thomas the tank engine videos that cost him a pretty euro or ten. The girls make the card he sends.

Tagnius buys clothes during the winter to protect against the cold and during summer for swimming, pays for his food when he is over, takes him to the movies and the zoo. Helps him learn how to ride a bike and later teaches him and his children the importance of safety near water. It's not a one-sided thing, he's aware. Lav and Vati do the same for his daughters. Joy and Celia come home with nice dresses and small perfumes from time to time. Tell him why having a strong woman in movies were better than princesses. That Dean's mums love Raven and Starfire too, eyes gleaming with unabashed pride. They spoiled his kids as much he did Dean.

(You'd think after two years he'd learnt their proper names, but he usually gets away with just referring to them as Dean's parents or you or them. Anything bar their real names if he's being honest.)

However Tagnius doesn't plan to care for Dean. Doesn't plan to ever care for anyone other than his daughters again. But Dean smiles like the moon. Soft and bright in equal parts, with the twinkling mischief of the stars in his eyes. Dean invites him personally to things like school plays and his birthday or weekend barbecues, even though he knows that Ceelia and Joy will tell him. Dean cares for his daughters in the only way he knows how, all ranging, unstoppable force.

Dean is this bright-eyed little kid who smiled and shouted and cried in front of Tagnius. Who threw tantrums yet never let an argument stop him from caring about his friends. Dean punches kids when they do him wrong, though thanks to his parents and Tagnius he's learnt to not just punch if he's angry. He's learnt to talk and when Dean's eight, after two years of pretending he doesn't care, Tagnius takes a risk and decides to care for this tiger cub who loved his daughters in a way only children were capable of loving.

That night, when he says goodnight to his daughters with a kiss on their temples he doesn't stop by Dean's mattress to whisper his customary 'night Dean.' Doesn't adjust the blanket and make awkward touches to his hands that hint at affection. That night he smooths Dean's hair and whispers night, before placing a quick peak on Dean's temple as well. Dean accepts the kiss with a mental shrug, because if he could have a dad, he'd want one like Mr. Tagnius. The thought is fleeting and oddly, fitting.

**Chin up.**

Discrimination was something he'd never really grasped. As a concept he knew it happened, had heard more than he'd seen people commit discriminatory acts. Casual uses of the word mudblood, unfair scores during test, slurs dropped into conversations as if they were simple 'hello's' and 'goodbye's'. But still he never understood it, understood why others were viewed differently and Percy. Poor naive Percy had believed he was never like those people.

Percy believed he'd never shamed anyone for their blood or race and therefore, he had seen himself as someone who wasn't racist.

It took some six minutes for Tagnius to realise how stupidly naive Percy had been.

Percy may not have ever used the word 'mudblood' or docked points from Slytherin's because he wasn't fond of them, but Percy never stopped that behaviour either. Percy let people call his friends racist slurs and stereotyped views with a shrug of his shoulders. Percy had labelled people under 'suspicious' with no reason to do so except for how they looked and where they were from. Percy was just as much as a racist as someone like Lucius Malfoy was, the only difference was Percy was never brave enough to express it. Sure he never cursed anyone strictly because of their blood-status, but he'd readily avoided Slytherins, did nothing to stop the blatant racism so many of his classmates and housemates spouted, if only because he believed them to be jokes most of the time and Tagnius really hated that.

Especially now that he was on the receiving end of that nonchalant attitude. People milled around him, his daughters and Dean, all with their heads ducked and their hands stuffed in their pockets. Tagnius really hated that, really hated Percy.

"Well, wot you waitin' fer an invitation!? Told you we ain't sellin' to no clumsy niggers," the shop-keeper screamed, red-faced.

It was funny, not even two minutes ago she'd been smiling up a storm, happy to sell to Tagnius. Her face had been open and polite, not genuinely happy but not so furious. However as soon as the kids had come in, she'd tensed abruptly. Confused with the sudden change, Tagnius had tried to swiftly talk with her about buying some meat, they were a relatively new butcher and the one he usually went to had closed for the day. It had taken all of Cecelia accidentally knocking down a jar of marmalade for her to show him exactly why he shouldn't buy from there. She'd shouted a racist slurs upon slurs at his baby girl, face exploding into a dark beetroot red. Talk about true colours shining through.

For the first time ever, racism and discrimination had hit Tagnius' life full force and he felt so angry. How could this grown woman, someone who was so polite to him scream at a nine-year-old!? In what state of mind did you have to be, for that to make sense? Worst of all Cecelia already held tears in the corners of her eyes, they slipped slowly and though the meaning of the words she couldn't comprehend, the resentful tone and spitting words were a loss to no one. All three children had cowered behind Tagnius, seeking protection in his shadow, whimpering softly. Around them people still moved and Tagnius' rage bubbled until he couldn't contain it.

"You do not speak to my children that way! You do not use those racist comments, you do not demean my children, you do not say a single words against my children you absolute toe rag! I don't care if this is your shop, I don't care who you are, you have no right to condemn anyone for their skin-colour, let alone children! I have no idea who raised you, but I'm so thankful that if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that my children will never become as horrible as you!"

Then, glancing to his awe-struck trio holding onto his pant legs, he brought them forward so all three children stood in front of him, arms around the trio as if daring anyone to touch his kids.

"Cecelia, Joy, Dean I want you all to raise your chins and know, if anyone ever says anything like what this nasty woman has said to you, you will not take it. You hear me? You are better than that and you will always walk away with your chins up."

And, because they're children they follow him, not quite comprehending what he meant, but old enough not to just forget about it either, chins high and a baffled shop-owner cursing behind them.

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**Random time-skip, again. You'll find they'll happen a lot. Tagnius is a wreck but he doesn't actually believe he's one and he's kinda too busy caring about his children to ever be consciously aware of that. I've glazed completely over his financial situation, which is stupid and unrealistic but it's real boring and I think he'd kinda got his hands full with being a full time dad to work just yet? Idk. Most of what I write is idk**

**Also Dean's just this little ball of sunshine and fire that I love but also have no idea on what I'm using him for? **

**And the bit about not learning peoples name even after knowing them for so long and getting away with the you/them/you two thing is so what I do.**

**And I've had no idea on what to write when suddenly I got real heated about racism thus that random thing up thurr ^^^^ . The Dean thing was just me loving that chaotic yet gentle soul. (wen u dnt kno how 2 character) So, thanks for reading guys.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey.**

**I'm trying to look through different perspectives right now. They're still roughly seven to eight years old.**

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**A-Squad**

The A hyphen Squad is the most popular trio their year, though Joy, Ceelia and Dean make an impressive second most popular.

The A hyphen Squad, who just called themselves the asquad, no hyphen, were all really popular and really girly. Joy liked saying A hyphen Squad because it made them wrinkle their nose when they heard it. Dean liked yelling "What's that in your hair!?" while talking to them, they screeched a lot at recess and made the monitors come running, so he didn't do it a lot.

Ceelia liked the A-Squad. They were nice enough, though sometimes they were real bratty, especially when they started talking about their parents. Aeri's dad was a lawyer and her mum was a part-time book writer. Joy tried to read one of her books at the library, but it was too complicated for her so she put it back crossly. Angie's parents were divorced, but her Dad ran a beauty salon and her Mum was a detective. Arvey never said anything about her Mum, but she always had a big, smarmy grin when she was mentioned. Her dad worked at school, teaching the older kids.

Ceelia liked Aeri the most, she was really fun by herself, but she was kinda mean to Dean when the other girls were around, especially Angie.

Mr. Wilson, who took them for P.E, always split the groups into four teams and Joy, Ceelia and Dean were never in the same group. Which was better, because it was way more fun playing head to head against Dean in Soccer, but she hated defending against Joy. Dean was nearly faster than Ceelia, not quite fast enough though. Joy wasn't as fast as them, but she was easily the fifth fastest in their class. What she lacked in speed though, she made up with the fact that as soon as she had the ball, it was a right trouble to get it off her. Luckily she played horribly with most of the kids on her team, only playing well with Scotty, Afton and Aliyah. Surprisingly, Angie and Dean were great midfielders when they were grouped together.

Personally, Cee loved playing with Aeri.

Aeri was the best, most reliable goalie ever. She was always jumping and chasing the ball and barely ever let a goal in. Plus, sometimes when she shouts out encouragement, Ceelia felt her blood sing and it was like wooosh, and she'd tear down the field. Even though Aeri was rubbish at netball and basketball, Cee still loved being on her group because she always felt that whoosh when she heard Aeri cheering her name. (The best part is though, Joy is rubbish at netball, too violent and competitive, always making contact and nearly always, always losing.)

**Group Sports**

For the past two-ish years they've been at school, despite excelling in their P.E classes, Joy, Ceelia and Dean hadn't joined any of the sporting teams. Dean, because he took boxing and Jiu Jitsu after school and Joy and Ceelia had never really cared for sports. But then Mr. Wilson had pulled Ceelia away after class and asked her to fill in for Dexter, who was away in Australia for family matters and wouldn't take the next few games, which would be fine if he wasn't their best player. Mr. Wilson hadn't forced Ceelia, had offered and she didn't really find a reason to say no, so she asked dad and the next four Saturdays she was playing Soccer.

Joy went and watched her sister the first two Saturday's, but she felt the jealousy coiling in her stomach early on as her father cheered and cheered and congratulated her sister. Dean had whooped, but been bored during halftime and managed to sneak off to play handball with some kids she didn't know. It hadn't taken long for Joy to come to the conclusion that Ceelia liked Soccer too much. And while some of her wanted Cee to just dump soccer and play with her, to avoid the after picnics with her team in favour of dad's colcannon and pasties, she also hated making Cee sad. And Cee liked soccer, so not letting her play would make her sad. The next best thing, was join a sport that let her play on weekends and practice at school.

Eventually she decides on basketball, Mr. Wilson liked her well enough and it was Mrs. O'Neil who actually coached them. Mrs. O is cool, because she set up this game system where others go to their school every second Friday for games and they just do round robin competitions, even when it's not basketball season. They only do two tournaments a year because they could only host two teams every Friday, but it keeps Joy busy and she likes it. Basketball's different to soccer.

Basketball's a lot more like boom and less zoom, whereas soccer's like zoom and stuff. She tells dad that and he laughs at her, but it's okay because she shows him when she does her first lay-up and the ball looks like it's falling to the ground, but she wishes really, really hard and it makes it into the hoop. And Jay's really good at the game, because his dad was once a pro-player for the Thunder's, but he broke his knee or something a few months in. Ever since he was two, Jay's been shooting hoops so he's really good and he always helps out when Joy kinda gets a little mad, and she gets mad a lot, because Ave's always blocking her even when they're on the same team.

Overall though, she ends up really loving the game, especially since Vati and Lav try and make the some of her games.

(Dean says that they're just trying to mess up their play-time because now they have even less time for him. Dad, Vati and Lav just laugh.)

(Tagnius also tells them both individually that they need to stop wishing for things to happen, because that is magic and cheating and they try really, really hard to listen to him.)

**Interlude: Parvati Patil.**

Parvati Patil hasn't felt safe since the winter of 1997. She's been stalked, hunted, tortured and nearly died multiple times. After the Battle of Hogwarts she was left in a coma for five months, before waking up an amputee and thrust into a wheelchair.

Everyday had been hell. Hell, because she still felt the pain of being crushed beneath the walls she once associated with safety, feeling the pain in her right leg cramp, her breath short jagged and pained. Ribs crushing her lung, she's lucky to have survived they say, but she never wanted to survive with only one leg. She never wanted to survive feeling like she's broken, like she's half a person.

The first few months are spent in suicide watch at a Muggle hospital, one with a few magical folk in high-up positions, doped up and her sister crying on her shoulder. Lavender comes in sometimes, smile tight as she visits her once best friend. Parvati finds it hard to look Lav in the eye now-a-days, especially what with the scars now adorning her face. When they were sixteen she might've said something like, "They make you look brave Lav," but now the sentiment sounds wrong. It wasn't bravery that kept them fighting through the war, wasn't bravery that made Lav pick her wand up time and time again, or curse the Carrows to save that first-year. It was necessity. It was horror and frankly, with the war won Parvati's content to die. Would rather die then close her eyes and remember the look on Colin's face as he tried to spell the walls off of her before crumpling on the ground.

No one lets her die and eventually she becomes sick of just laying in bed unresponsive. She becomes sick of her depression and dying and seeing Lav get skinnier even though she knows Lav's still got the baby. She's sick of being a little China doll, so she begins talking and when she's able to convince the hospital, she begins to walk. It's easier being around Muggles, she find their way of life weird and questions them on many things they do without magic, but at least it isn't shoved in her face. Sometimes she can play pretend and be fine.

Baby Dean is born in the Hospital that she's in, in November with ten perfect toes and perfect fingers. Two perfect eyes and arms and legs and not at all as broken and half a person as Parvati feels, Parvati falls in love. She takes one glance at him and sees Lav, because yeah he's got Dean's colouring and his nose, but he's got Lav's lips, and her facial structure and her soft hair, that feels like silk on her fingers. She doesn't hold standing up ever, because she can only imagine the worst, but she cuddles him and loves him more than she ever has Lav, because for the first time since the war she remembers who she was fighting for.

Eventually, after a year of therapy they begin talking about letting her out and after six months of faux-independence, smiling from Padma and encouragement from Lav, they talk about letting her go. She learnt how to walk, usually with her prosthetic and like some of her is still sad and lost and broken, but she's not really mad anymore. Not with them. With herself however, she feels nothing but mad.

Quick hint as to why, Lav's been beautiful for as long as Parvati has known her. The scars don't change that single bit, no matter how often Lav may look at them with disgust and anger. The scars are simply there, just as her right leg from mid-thigh down, is no longer there. It's fact at this point, or maybe Vati's just seen them for so long they don't really matter. Either way, Lav's beautiful and though all the things Vati's done, she's been there. First year Hogwarts, fourth year with Harry, fifth and sixth with Seamus, the coma, the suicide attempt, struggling to get better mentally, giving birth to Dean. That's a whole decade with Lav in her life and she picks now, as they're getting their lives together, Lav on her second year towards a degree in business and Vati getting out from hospital, this is when Vati kisses Lav.

It's weird, because before the second Vati pressed their lips together, she was unaware of her slow-burning crush. Didn't remember seeing Lav as more than just Lav, until she'd pulled her forward, fingers running through silk-like locks. Lav pushes her away softly, a look of regret on her face and Dean looks on with his wide, innocent eyes.

She doesn't say anything and for months things become stilted with them, with absolutely no talking and the most their interactions they have revolve around is Dean, Vati's dumb enough to give up one of her lifelines, she can't quite give up two. Not when her third lifeline is trying so hard to become someone in their ugly world, to make her stamp on a world Parvati's not ready to handle.

Things get tolerable, to say the least. In group therapy, something she goes to whenever she can be bothered getting out of the house, she meets Jonah. He's funny and nice and can understand war, he was deployed over in Afghanistan for four years before they met. He takes her to a movie, where a girl kisses a guy and a girl and she learns a new word, bisexual. It takes a while to learn more from the word than just, a person who kisses everyone. Takes a while before it means someone who can love anyone given enough reason. A word she uses to define herself. After this big realisation, liking Lavender becomes more than just a temporary and awkward accident and Parvati begins to date again.

There's Danny, she leaves because she can't handle the stares Parvati gets. Steve couldn't handle the pressures of dating a cripple as well, those were his words. Alissa is great and they seem to last for two months, until she meets Steve and then Alissa leaves her, because she's 'uncomfortable dating a person who can't make up their mind'. Each break up hurts a little more.

Lav can tell every time there's break-up, because she goes to see her and hold Dean a little longer, because he's the only person she knows won't judge her, can't judge her. They haven't talked about the kiss at all, even with her dating both birds and blokes. Life's a little broken and she's twenty with no idea on what to do with her life, so Jonah takes her to boxing with him. She learns how to fight and at the start, so many people take pity on her, but she loves fighting. It's easy to lose herself first in the rhythm of practice and in due time the actual fights. She's not gonna lie, she may have used confundus to allow leeway on her fights, because there are only so many people able to fight her.

Eventually a fight gets too rough and she ends up knocked down for too long. Lav comes in crying and Padma looks a little distressed, especially because she may have forgotten to mention she had taken boxing up. There's some crying and she falls unconscious for a few second before blinking awake and Padma looks so uncharacteristically angry and Jonah laughs with her and Dean gives her a confused look and muddles out an equally confused 'What happened?'. But perhaps the weirdest, most satisfying, most beautiful thing is, that when their alone, Jonah having gone home and Dean with Padma, Lav kisses her. She gapes at Lavender, confusion on her face and tears drip warmly down her face as Lavender stubbornly holds her.

"I love you so much Parvati Patel and these past seven months with you being there, but never being here have been some of the most awful months of my life. I've never felt more regret than when I saw you dating other tarts and I've been trying to convince myself that this is a phase, but it's not. You, you have been the only woman in my life I have ever felt this way for, and I love you so much, so please, please tell me you still like me."

It's the most heartfelt and frankly most disgustingly sweet confession she has ever gotten. She doesn't answer, because her minds moving a mile a minute and instead, she leans forward and relishes in their kiss once more. It's the best damned kiss she's ever had.

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**Hey, idk imma drop this here. Mā te wā my bruhs.**

**Also special thanks to persephonella for your reviews, they were much appreciated and made me smile for like a week. So, thanks.**


	13. Chapter 13

Imma speed things up. The starting bit is set like a while ago, like when the girls find out about magic.

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**PTSD: How to get over it (How to realise you never can)**

He'd thrown his wand away years ago. Proverbially thrown it away that is, tucked in a box, under a stack of clothes that he'd left in the big house. Big house meaning Audrey's home, not the one he'd made for his family. He rarely went into the big house, maybe twice every three to four months, he cleans it out and fixes anything he can fix. It's usually a full two day job, so he sends the girls off to Dean's for the night

Tagnius does it for Audrey, just a little hope that her house doesn't become neglected, because it's still hers. Still holds her memories and he wouldn't ever want to just let something of hers go into ruins.

However maybe a month after the girls find out about magic, he journey's into the house again.

It's with trepidation that he makes way up the stairs, to the room he's used as a bedroom all those years ago. Something is bursting in his lungs, but he doesn't know what and his feet keep moving him to where he knows he left the wand. The world stops, he keeps moving, the wand is shaking in his hands, alive and furious and neglected and it burns, the memories burn away at his skin. It's ridiculous, he's never had a post-war flashback because of his wand. Used it for months afterwards, but now it feels like death in hands, like sparks and fires and screams. Sounds like smoke, taste like muffled cries and looks like ash shrouding the air.

He drops the wand and bolts until he's half-way down the stairs. He has to slip his t-shirt off and press his bare skin to the cool surface of the wooden stairs, just so he can gasp that gasp that's been building in his lungs. His nails scratch his chest until he can breathe again and knowing his girls won't be home until the next day, he stays like that. Half-naked pressed against the floor, eyes glazed over and unsteady, breath laboured and jagged.

Try number two at touching his wand is three weeks later. It ends pretty much the same. As does the week after that, the two after that and the one after that. But then he holds his wand again and it thrums to life bitterly, but he can't feel death, can't taste screams or see flashes. It gets easier and easier and easier, until he can cast simple heating charms. Until his wand begins to trust him again. Until he begins inserting magic into his girls lives, so they'll no longer doubt its existence. But one morning he's doing a simple Scourgify and instead of jets of water, he sees green and the scream is shrill in his throat.

Everything was great, it was better, he was over the flashbacks wasn't he?

He was better and normal and only had nightmares when he forgot to turn the t.v off and the light flashing reminded him off Bad Stuff. Joy and Ceelia are around and he can hear them, he knows he can, but cotton is in his ears and in his mouth and on his body. So all he can do is put his hand on the stove top until the burning pain awakens him into a life with light, with sound, with feeling.

"Daddy!" His darling Joy cries, hands holding him down while Cee neared them, stuttering out dad.

"Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad." She repeats, tears trickling slowly down her eyes as she holds an ice pack out for his hands.

He accepts it with shame pitted in his stomach, feeling the dread-wash over him like a long-forgotten scent weaselling it's way back into his life.

**Baby Cakes**

The girls are seven when they begin playing sports and it's around here they begin to pull away from him. Not like purposely, nor maliciously, just sports takes a lot from them. He's not sure when sports became their worlds, but suddenly there's little to no Saturday cartoons with the kids, Sunday's at the library or at the park. They're so busy. Nevertheless he supports them.

Brings cakes and scones and biscuits and tarts to their picnics, their barbecues. Hosts bake sales. Eventually he becomes known as the baker, PTA meetings, sports fundraisers, school functions. He bakes.

He's also great at baking. It was a craft passed onto him yonks ago and he's a great cooks well, the parents know this. Parent's also happen to be lazy and sometimes they have good money. So he bakes and gets paid for things they ask of him as parent's, not as fellow fundraiser's or cooks.

Mrs. K- something orders a strawberry tart for her elder sons graduation, then that becomes a yearly order, sometimes with eclairs on the side. Mr. L- whats-his-name buys his scones every third Friday of the month. Sometimes they order things he's never tried to bake before, like chocolate booze cakes or what-not. By the time his girls are ten, he's a full-fledged baker.

He works from home. Ingredients are usually fresh, because he had room for a small, very small farm and garden on his property. He manages to sort out some delivery routes for things he can't grow in their cool environment or things he can't prepare himself.

He quit smoking in the house when the girls were two, unable to rationalise smoking in rooms they'd spend a frequent amount of time in. Despite that, he knows some people spread rumours about ash and butts being in their goods, all lies.

The thing is though, rumors aside, he also gets paid quite a bit. His prices are on the easier side, reimbursement for the ingredients he used, ten euro deposit, twenty profit and a twenty five cancellation fee. He has quick delivery fee, a logo and customised boxes, he even lets the girls bake with his supervision. Though Dean proves to be much better than them, especially with icing the food. They manage the simpler dishes easily enough, though he hasn't trusted them with anything with more than five ingredients and he hovers to see they are doing alright in whatever their making. Sometimes he even puts wards up, letting the magic flow freely in his house until the wards alert him of incoming customers. Usually he delivers though, so that doesn't pose much of a problem .

A big problem, though, is the amount of interest his girls show in sports. Because for all the money they still have, sporting is still expensive. Maybe not for seven and eight year olds who don't compete seriously, but for ten year olds it is too expensive.

There's sporting fees, new cleats and shoes, because they run their shoes down every six months. Practice balls for around home, he buys a hoop for the backyard, then he buys some polls and sets up a goal. He sets ups shades above both the hoop and the goal, so neither of them get wet while training. Sports camps are expensive and usually out of town the past seven they've been to combined costing a lot of money, sometimes out of the country, though thankfully that's only happened once.

Everything cost a little more and it's not that they're poor, but he's crunched the numbers twenty different ways and he can't afford to keep paying for both their sporting trips, their schooling fees and the little luxuries they have.

He keeps his cellphone. It's pretty new, with a touch screen that slides up to reveal buttons. He ditches the home phone. Keeps the delivery van, with Baby Cake's logo and his cell on it. Ditches their normal car. He decreases their library visits, because as much as Joy loves to read, she always forgets to take her book back on time and the library bills are stacking up. He buys a different brand of smokes, their the re-fillable packets, which he hasn't bought since way back when, because they last for a year, but cost at least an arm. It's still cheaper than buying all of the rollie packs he gets a month. The hardest decision is between the computer and the t.v. The computer was a gift from Dean's mum with the bright eyes, she had five gifted to her because of working with someone. The t.v however, is something his kids still love. They blast music off of it now-a-days, Joy with her Taylor Swift obsession and Cee going through an R&amp;B phase. Dean prefers being outside though. Eventually the computer stays, because he can ask someone to teach him how to burn cd's and the girls use it to print off school work and photos, plus he has a few games for the PC if they get bored. Barbie whatever and The Adventures of Whatshisname and The Dragon.

There's still a lot of number crunching and he's still careful with how their money is spent, but he can pay bills and it's hard, but it's not that hard and as long as his kids pull in that attitude they've been getting, it feels like it's worth all the sacrifices.

**Dean Brown: Wizard.**

A long, very long time ago that is scarcely spoken of, a chap by the name of Percy Weasley had the highest grades his year. Higher than Hufflepuff Angela Moore, who would go to win a Wizarding Peace Prize in 2002. Higher than Ravenclaw Tyler Oaken, who would became the youngest recognised Healer since 1945, achieving this in 1993, while also completing his OWLs. He'd scored higher grades than even Slytherin Sosefina Tuila, who became the youngest and most liked Minister of Social and Demographical Development in 2000.

(Of course, the once called Percy would never know of his all his friends achievements since he last saw them in the year of darkness, 1999.)

Percy hadn't scored higher grades merely because he worked harder. He was also just as smart as them and naturally quicker, his mind caught on to theories quickly and he could always string together the loosest, most abstract theories and solidify them with pages and pages worth of research and a compelling opinion. Which is why it's really stupid that Tagnius, who still possessed Percy's wit if nothing else, never connected the dots.

Lavender Brown. With amethyst eyes and brown hair, a girl five years Percy's junior in school. Who was always with a dark skinned Parvati Patil. Ms Brown with the bright eyes and brown hair, a woman five years his junior, partner to a dark skinned indian woman; who affectionately refer to each other as Lav and Vati.

Lavender Brown obsessed with fashion. Ms Brown, a cosmetologist and perfumer, who ran her own business. It seemed so simple, but, it also wasn't.

Since long gone days, tragedy, trauma and loss had striken these women. Had faded smiles and broken eyes. Scarred faces and taken limbs. It was simple, yet it was also complex. It had taken seeing Dean use accidental magic to lock every abstract theory he hadn't oft pondered of, into a secure hypothesis. Into a proven fact. Into the actual fact that there's a pair of witches living near him and so what if he knew them? It's dangerous. Dangerous. Dangerous. Wizards and witches kill, he killed, they can hurt his babies and and and... The worse-case scenarios are swimming, flooding, storming his mind and he needs to protect them.

And he calms his breath, offering the recently sick Dean the soup and bread he'd been bringing to him in the first place. Checking his temperature, coercing the medicine into Dean's system. And he rationalises.

Lavender and Parvati were traumatised by the war and are now on a blood-thirsty journey to killing any and all war veterans. No, unlikely, Lavender rarely left their home, only doing so for business trips. Parvati travelled often, but every time she travels she comes back with a different bruise and a different medal, or title.

Lavender and Parvati are doing a Thelma and Louise and somehow, Tagnius has managed to become a victim in their deranged game. Not reasonable, not when they've known each other for three-years and they still hadn't made a move.

They were traumatised and ran away like he did. Maybe, more reasonable, he could understand it. They ought to be a reason behind the lost limb and the scarred faces.

They simply wished to start again. Probably, very likely, after all, he did so as well.

It didn't matter and he didn't need to confront them. Total and utter lie.

He'll confront them one day, but he watches the sniffling Dean smile at the movie his girls had picked out before being ushered to play outside, the movie was something about a robot falling in love. He forces the panic down, fingers clenching and mind screaming for a fag. Tomorrow Dean was picked up, his mothers were out of town. Tomorrow he can deal with it. Just, not today.

**Dean Brown: Wizard 2.0**

The girls found out about Dean having magic soon after finding out they themselves have magic.

It's really fun having a wizard best-friend, as well as a witch sister.

They make flowers sprout out of weird household ingredients, such as salt, water and dirt. Fly off of swings and slides, floating gently to the ground, competing to see who flies further. Make leaves dance, words morphing into pictures against the pages of the books they read. It's the same as what they did pre-realisation, only more majestic.

Everything is more magical and they love it. Spend days laughing outside in the vast corners of their backyard, recess hiding from the other kids doing magical stunts.

Honestly, they just never thought to bring it up with their dad, it seemed fairly normal anyway.

Dean had much the same reaction with his mums.

**Letters.**

It's logical that their letters come just a bit before Christmas that year. It is very logical, they're both eleven, obviously Hogwarts would send letters, but despite that he's still slack-jaw.

The letters, pristine and glowing and familiar yet foreign, are addressed to Ms Joy and Ms Cecelia Smyth. He expected to have to change the letters, change names and white out and tea bags dying paper, but he doesn't.

It's the biggest relief and he explains the houses to his girls, what class books they need, read out the rules, all basically the same with only few differences from his time there.

First years were allowed to take broomsticks, but only with parental permission and were only to be used when under supervision.

Unless approved by an authorised Technician Magician, and he wondered briefly who coined the ridiculous term, all electronic devices were to be left at home as they at times went haywire on Hogwarts Grounds, if not provided with the right protection spells.

Pets now included rabbits, chickens and hamsters, however they needed to be consulted by a magical veterinarian first. He doesn't really want to know why.

Books could apparently be ordered through the school, instead of at Diagon Alley, but copies of order slips and receipts must be taken to each Head of House

He read all this out to his children, watched them glow brightly and curiously and beautifully. For a moment he allows himself to remember Percy, not in passing like he usually does, but really remembers. Then he excuses himself, saying he's going outside for fresh air, he slides down to sit at his porch and pulls the cigarettes from his pocket.

Smoke leaves his mouth in small, lingering breaths as he reminisces.

A light smile pulls at his lips as he thinks of the hidden corridor on the bend to the Ravenclaw tower, that he and Penelope frequented often. As he thinks of the nights him and Ollie would spend sneaking out to Hogsmeade, doing nothing of interest and still having the most fun ever. The way Ollie's nose would crinkle when Penelope first got him into smoking during fifth year, or how his face would pull into pity when the scent lingered around Percy's bed on the nights following Penelope's petrification.

He remembers how smug he felt to get higher grades than Sosefina and Tyler, because they were both obvious in their distaste of scoring lower than him. Or the way their grins would light their faces up when they one upped him and how he felt the pride bloom in his chest, because those arrogant schmucks were his closest friends.

Hogwards is laden with so many memories and his cigarette is long finished, yet he holds the burnt-out butt in his hands, mind still unravelling the past. Days spent crying in the bathroom near the herbology class, few and far between as they were. Quidditch in the dark with the mates from fifth to seventh year, how he'd alternate between being the chaser and the ref. It seemed so surreal to remember that all happened, that magic had been so closely interwoven with his life, that he spent seven wondrous years feeling unbelievably content.

A bitter smiled pulls at his mouth as he begins to remember everything thereafter.

Mister Crouch and how he had to basically run a whole department on his own. How he didn't have the confidence to speak up about his odd behaviour. Working himself down to the bone, until stress was his constant companion. The relief of being promoted, the hurt of his father words. How his life just went down hill after that, how he pushed Oliver and Sose away, to avoid being berated as he smoked away his lungs. Having to spend time with Tyler to get regular potions to help with his hoarse voice and hang-over cures for the rougher nights, the lectures his friend would give him every time he was there.

Meeting Audrey. How he'd been doing a pack every three days before he meet Audrey, how she managed to bring him down to barely one a month, then none at all. How she made everything feel right, even if it wasn't perfect all the time. How losing her made him feel like half of a whole.

He sighs, stands and pulls another fag out. The smoke helps take the edge off, if even just for a little while.

* * *

**I've read Cursed Child, I acknowledge the portrayals of Albus, Scorpius and Rose and their houses as canon, but any other information from that book is like eh w/me rn. Also, this is a huge mess engari, hai aha. Yay to making my own Hogwarts Post-War Rules up and bringing in the Lavender/Parvati thing again and still leaving things left-unsaid! Not my intention, but this just became too long, sorry hahah. Thanks for reading.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Guys, it's different perspectives again, but with a twist.  
PTSD warning, OCD tendencies and profanity within, read with like sub-caution I guess.**

* * *

**1, 2, 3.**

August 15th 2001, 1:35PM  
Tottenham Court Road, Central London  
The Trio's Flat.

Ron sits at the foot of his, Harry's and 'Mione's shared bed, blue eyes forever roving Mione's bookshelf.

He counted the rows again. 4 rows. 33 books.

1, 2, 3 books with green spines.

1, 2, 3 healing books in blue next to it.

1, 2, 3 old Hogwarts text books in red.

He moves again, it was still wrong. 1 blue, 1 green, 1 red. He takes them out again. Still wrong. 1 healing encyclopaedia, 1 text book, 1 herbology book. It was still wrong. Again the 20 year old pulled the nine novels from the first row out, letting them scatter against the floor. But it still felt weird, so he proceeded to tear the books from the second row down, then the third.

It was all so stupid. Ron hated how stupid he was being, but it's Harry's fault because he took a yellow and a purple book and now the 35 books in their room were down to thirty three. He didn't like the number.

Seeing the books scattered everywhere, Ron began to order them by size, and then by colour and then alphabetically. He took care to let the books linger in his hold, before turning to start organizing them by position in the bookshelf.

It wasn't usually this bad. His compulsion to do everything with his hands. He always moved his hands, because something bad would happen if he didn't. Today was a bad day and he didn't usually get this fussy, but everything is wrong and he's been cutting dry from alcohol for a long while. Him and Harry had made a deal, but merlin he craved the bottle now. Not the burn of firewhisky, or even the oblivion it gave him. It was just, the comfort holding the bottle brought him. The knowledge that with only some long gulps he could be pulled from his life.

His pale hands shook, shaking, shaking and shaking. He blinked. Then blinked again. A third. It wasn't until the 27th blink that the blink felt right and then he could focus on his hands. Healers told him it was all in his subconscious. His hands weren't actually in pain, nor were his arms though he could feel the awful vibration splinching left him with even now.

Breathe, he instructed, forcing his hands to stop shaking. Forcing his mind to remember that his hands were there, were very real and not at all apart of his imagination. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...Each finger was the same length it had always been, a pinkish tint to his long digits. 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. They were all there, but he needed to make sure just in case. 1 loop, 2 loop, 3 loops. Somehow he managed to calm his breath and systematically he put each book away, the feel very real to palm, to his fingers, to his arms.

"'Lo Ron, here's a bit of a cuppa, you 'right there?" Harry asked, tentatively walking into the room.

Ron looked up and nodded, however staring at Harry made him blink and he nearly sighed. 1, 2, 3, 4. He counted. 10, 11, 12. It was stupid, Harry sat next to him, but Ron couldn't really pay attention right now. 21, 22, 23. Why weren't any of them right? 25, 26, 27. He shook himself from his reverie.

"Ron, talk to us, we know August is bad on you."

That was a right farce it was. August was a terrible month. It was when Percy was first declared missing two years ago. It was when Ginny and Harry broke up last year, changing the dynamics of their friendship. It was when he got diagnosed with PTSD and OCD that same year. It was also when he found Lee Jordan dead as a nail a few months following the war, legs hanging from the ground and a note clenched in his hands.

_1, 2, 3, 4, 5. The note stayed there until Ron had to pry and even as Lee laid lifelessly on the floor, Ron had to loop and loop and loop until counting each of his fingers felt just right. _

He suddenly felt awfully dirty.

Harry, recognising the absent blur that became Ron whenever his compulsions started pulling more violently at him, lowered his own cup and gently put his hand on Ron. It took a moment for Ron to realise who was in front of him. Once he did, his heart started to calm and though he still felt dirty, it didn't feel as violently wrong as it did before.

"Sorry mate, where's Mione?"

Harry smiled, more a reluctant tilt of his lips than a smile.

"She's off at her lecture, won't be back until 3," he answered.

Ron smiled and nodded, inserting the last, square book into it's proper place.

It didn't feel perfect. But it didn't feel bad. He nodded.

"Well, we better clean up before then, she'll kill us if she doesn't get a shower in before dinner."

Harry nodded his head, a smaller, yet more real smile appearing on his face.

* * *

**Pieces: My little family  
**  
August 15th 2001, 2:17PM  
Devon, England.  
Ottery St Catchpole, The Burrow.

"Hello my lovely, just how are you? Aren't you just growing up my baby?"

From her position at the kiddy table, the two year old Victoire pays little attention to her grandfather, intent on finishing the picture she was drawing.

Looking at his daughter caused an exasperated smile to appear on Bill's face. Victoire was equal parts wonderful as she was terrifying and the trials of fatherhood was difficult for Bill, especially with Fleur opting to go back to studying this year. Almost as if reading his thoughts, which wouldn't surprise Bill because his wife is a bloody genius, Fleur sends him an unimpressed look from the kitchen, walking towards him with her cup of water.

To her right mum smiles at Victoire and glares at Bill. That summed up a lot of fatherhood actually. Everyone either cared solely for the child or the parents, there was no balance. Bill didn't care much, even he held the same biased tendencies.

Victoire had taken after her mother in looks, same pale skin, same blonde hair, same delicate features. Personality wise, she had her father down pat. She was quiet and reserved, where Fleur was quiet yet observant. She was smart and inquisitive, but didn't quite have the knack her mother did to sit and be totally encompassed by her surroundings. Instead she had Bill's need to do engraved into her very being and the five minutes she was spending drawing this moment, were the most still, most silent minutes that Bill had gotten from his daughter since her birth a little over two years ago.

His eyes drooped slightly as he watched her. She had insisted on waking up at 5 this morning and generally August 15th was a somber day, thus leaving him more drained than usual.

To his side Fleur lectures him in accented yet fully fluent English. He replies with a quiet french curse and a tactfully applied, je'taime at the end, as if saying I love you would help his predicament. Fleur, newly pregnant and just as cranky as her husband when deprived of sleep flicks her wand and he feels the sensation of water sliding down his skin.

Fleur had no clue that the feel of water was reminiscent to saliva of werewolves dribbled, even in the heat of a war. Mostly because he never told her. He pushes away his dark thoughts, rolling his deep blue eyes and moving to cuddle against Fleur's steadily growing breast. Being pregnant had made her breast the best kind of pillows, however it was very rare that she allowed him to use her as a pillow, the swelling already uncomfortable.

"My baby girl won't ever be a cranky mother to be, will she?" He queries, only half seriously to Victoire.

To his side Fleur hits him with no fire and he laughs shortly.

Then, because Bill loves being a contradictory fool, he feels very suddenly sad. And then really content.

Sad because his family shouldn't have to eat dinner annually to mourn a missing brother- he refuses to use the word dead. Not until there was evidence to back that theory up. And content, because he always had these moments where he suddenly remembered how much he loved Fleur, even after these six years together. It made him feel full and warm and inexplicably great, like happiness wasn't just a wild fantasy, but his special reality.

He moved his face upwards and placed a gentle kiss on Fleur's neck, he hears Charlie groan from a mile away. The opening door distracts him and he glances up as Fleur whispers a quiet I love you.

"Oh my baby! How's Aunt Ginny's favourite little girl!?"

Bill smiles up in greeting at his baby sister, while his daughter shouts out an excited 'Aunt Ginny', a wide smile blooming on her little face.

* * *

**Coming Home.**  
August 15th 2001, 3:40PM  
Wizarding London  
Leaky Cauldron

Fred sighed, face scrunched up in annoyance as he adjusted his tie again. He was never good with ties, that was always – Fred groaned again.

(_"I always knew something was up, and Godric I tried to just keep calm, but how in the bloody fuck could you lie to me like this!? I asked you guys so many times to be honest with me, you and Angie both told me you were happy! What in the fuck is wrong with you!?_")

The mirror in the corner of room uttered sly remarks as he sat, head bowed in frustration. He wished he could shut it up, but Hannah was temping for Tom and didn't know how to mute the mirrors. Fred blinked harshly.

"Get it together Freddie," he mumbled, pulling at his thinning ginger locks.

Anger, sadness and loneliness weren't familiar companions of Fred, but these past four days they had guarded him like a hound dog and he hated how pathetic he felt. Slowly his hazel eyes flickered to the left, before pausing and he pulled at his hair a little harder, the pain distracting him slightly.

(_"We didn't plan this Fred, but I'm not gonna apologise. I love Angie and I can't help that.")_

He pulled harder, the anger festering within him. Fred wanted to go home, he wanted to see Mum and Dad and laugh with Gin, asking her about her trials for the Euro-Quidditch Camp. Maybe talk to Charlie about what he's been up to with the Romanian Committee and ask Ron if he's accepted the offer to lead the Canons yet, even though Fred already knew the answer to each question he'd ask. He really wanted to be with his family, it always filled him with an odd sense of joy and mischief, but the thought of seeing George again hurt him more deeply than he could ever explain.

Even now he felt frustrated, unable to comprehend how Georgie and Angie could so callously betray him. He'd known for months, years actually that Angie and George had something a little more special than he did with her. In fact he'd first asked her out with all the intention of setting George and Angie up, but he and Angie grew closer and closer and George had given him explicit permission to date her for real.

(_"I don't understand why you're being so cruel Fred, you always knew I loved her, you stole her away from me and I'm sorry that I couldn't stop loving her, but you should be sorry too,"_)

The betrayal is what hurt the most. He could handle Angelina and George being in love, but he couldn't handle knowing that they betrayed him. That they snuck around his back and it had taken him seeing them in bed for them to be honest with him, even as he confessed to George that it felt like Angelina was cheating on him. Even as he cried on his brother's shoulder about seeing marks he hadn't made on Angelina, even as he bemoaned her continued distance from him, George had said nothing. Supported him as if he wasn't off shagging his girlfriend.

(_"Fred please, George and I never meant to hurt you. We especially never meant for this to happen. Please Freddie, you have to understand we never planned to fall in love."_)

Fred bit his lip as he stood, letting his tears slide down slowly, before rubbing them away furiously. He plastered a smile on his face, a touch strained, but not completely fake and fixed his appearance one more time. With the crack of his wand and a flick of his wrist, Freddie vanished towards home.

* * *

**Blood, Sweat and Tears: How to Move On.**  
August 15th 2001, 9:25AM  
Liverpool, England  
Euro-Q Camp Trials.

"C'mon keep it up Gin," Ginny muttered as she continued her last few sit-ups, she'd move to her burpees set soon.

She was on her sixteenth rep, her high-score this week. Around her many other EQ hopefuls were in much the same predicament. If she was keeping count correctly, she was currently the fourth best set maker today, behind the Lithuanian lady in her mid-twenties, the chav from Portugal a few years older than Gin, and the two German ladies who were in their early twenties. Of the 80 people still trialling, Ginny was the second youngest, the youngest a 16-year-old from Australia also among them. However she was determined not to let her age hinder her performance, because being among the lucky twenty-five to get a guaranteed position in one of the eighteen quidditch teams who helped sponsor the camp, that was her dream ever since she started thinking about prospective careers.

Breathing heavily, Ginny stretched for only a second, before bending down. She heaved with all her strength and put the 100kg weight above her head. Even with shaking hands she held it for the complete fifteen seconds, mentally thanking her spotter for keeping her in place. It falls to the ground with a dull thud.

"C'mon people! Breaking even is good but progress is better!" Shouted their kindest Coach, Luciano Castillo from Spain, Keeper for the Arrows back when they won the European Cup.

"One more guys! Push. Your. Selves! Do you want to be failures!?" Asked Wen Schmidt, she was one of the most famous new comers, known for breaking the record for fastest snitch catcher, with a total of five minutes in the game and Ginny's current idol.

Ginny perspires madly, face red with exhaustion. She pushes up, arms propelling and then lowers herself down slowly. One more she repeats, one more.

"Great everyone! You guys are making us so proud, just keep pushing, remember there's always room for improvement," pushed Emiliano Talbot, head coach and Quidditch veteran, even at forty-one he out-done nearly everyone on the first day of camp by demonstrating an unreal amount of thirty-two reps while only looking slightly discomforted and red-faced.

Ginny persevered through each rep.

Nineteen. She thought as the weight thudded against the floor.

One more.

Twenty.

She continued the routine. Push-up. Box jumps. Rope skips. Sit ups. Burpees. Weight-lifting.

Twenty one.

Her legs are dead, only sheer athletic will-power pushing her through each repetition. She feels faint, her stomach like lead. She'd eaten a bowl of porridge and a half a banana this morning, but she suddenly felt too full. Almost absently she glared at Matti, he'd eaten two plates of eggs whites, four slices of clean ham and a bowl of porridge, yet looked more fine than she did.

Emiliano rings the alarm and Ginny falls to the ground with relief, Drew spotter to the twelve in their sections, offers her a water bottle and a dry towel. She takes both gratefully, willing herself to sit.

"Okay everyone, we are very proud of the progress you have made and a quick reminder, no private training today, we need you fit and able for the elimination test tomorrow," starts Wen.

Everyone makes subtle sounds of agreement.

"Now, we will be meeting up for a quick run later on tonight at six, and we'll have three games going, Weasley vs Petkus, Jensen vs Beckmen and Hadar vs Olsson, you guys will Captain your teams today."

Ginny does a lazy salute, before standing and waddling to her room.

"Right there Weasley?" Illeana asked.

Ginny nodded, unable to answer in fear it would waste more energy. She didn't particularly want to go home and Harry also being there wasn't quite as motivating as an incentive as it once was for her. However, Ginny merely rolled her eyes at the brief memories of once was and wondered what went wrong as she wandered back to her room. Exercising was good, because it kept her away from her head, but every finished challenge and trashed session marked the beginning of her over-thinking. Each and every time her mind wandered to stuff it shouldn't, like why her and Harry hadn't worked out.

She knew what was obviously wrong, after all she was the one who left him, but she wasn't quite sure if her reasoning were as rock-solid as she thought they were back then.

Harry had been lying to her, was too easily frustrated and depended on illegal substances to offer him pleasure, the choice to leave him should be simple, but it wasn't. It had taken so much fighting for Ginny to end it, had taken clear vials of potions he shouldn't have had access to and so many days of contemplation. In fact, she was contemplating whether it was worth the pain right this second, nearly a full year after their split-up.

Did she love Harry too much? Did she not love him enough? At nineteen she couldn't answer that question. What she knew though, is that leaving him was what was best for him.

It was what Harry needed, her leaving made him begin to prioritise his life, she'd heard through Mione that he stopped the illegal potions and even the cigarette smoking. He'd written her a few letters since, apologies and love-letters tucked into small pages ripped from his books he used to write notes, and he was writing notes according to Mione, was blimey top of his Auror course. But even with his whole life steadily falling into place, Ginny didn't know if she could trust him.

After so many years of rocky roads and unknown courses during the war, she kinda craved a bit of stability in her life, and that was hard enough to find being Ginny Weasley, War Hero. It would be even harder with Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, The-Chosen-One. And she knows he hates being called any of those ephitats, but that's who he is and the pressure, she didn't know if her love for Harry was worth the pain and pressure it brought.

Ginny groaned and continued her way to the shower. She didn't want to move into the shower, felt far too tired, but the horrid smell wouldn't do for their family dinner. The shower is a scant five minutes and she dresses causally as she leaves EQ, having already obtained permission a few days ago. Before the portkey can fully transport her, she readies a genuine smile. Mum and Dad were waiting on her after all, and she'd missed them greatly.

* * *

**Look who's back? Back again? Weasley's back... I kinda wanted to give them something to do lmao, because they will obviously appear again and I didn't want to bring them in suddenly. And why do I overwrite what's supposed to be really simple chapters? Oh well, part b of this chapter is to come.**

**On a side note, there will probably (I make no promises) be a v small surplus of sporadic updates from me, because it's exam season and I love skewering my priorities and not studying enough! Thanks for reading guys.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Conversations: AN EXCERPT.  
**

August 15th 2001, 5:24PM  
Devon, England.  
Ottery St Catchpole, The Burrow.**  
**

"Ginny, please–" Harry begged.

"Look Harry, I don't want to hear it."

"Ginny I've changed, I have, I just want to talk to you."

Ginny whirls around to face Harry, eyes furious and pained and relieved in ways Harry couldn't quite understand as he stood dumbly before her. The intensity of her gaze pierces him and he chews his lip awkwardly.

"Good on you Harry, honestly. I'm happy you're doing better and it's great how well you look and how much weight you've put on, but I'm not interested. You've changed? So have I... I'm through missing you. Through getting left behind and through with loving you too much. I'm only nineteen and I- I need time okay. Time to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life. So please, don't start this."

A sudden hush falls over the hallway. Brown meets green and Harry's head tilts to the side. He looks almost cute and confused like that. A touch more innocent than usual.

"I'm still crazy about you. And if you want time, then Rowena knows you've earned it...But, I just need to tell you I'm different and I'm trying everyday and it's because you and Ron and Mione helped me sort my life out...So I just– Thanks. I've already told Ron and Mion's this, so I need you to know. Truly, thank you for being there Gin, it helped a lot."

Ginny smiles at him softly, eyes shining in that special way he loved. She tightens her ponytail and looks at Harry. His cheeks have filled out, his bags almost vanished and his eyes lighter. Still dark and jaded, but much lighter.

She speaks kindly, genuine warmth in her voice

"You're welcome Harry, hone–"

"Dinners UP!" Ron announces loudly, his voice cutting her off almost comically.

The two share a mirthful look, before proceeding to the kitchen.

**Promotions.**

August 15th 2001, 2:19PM  
Devon, England.  
Ottery St Catchpole, The Burrow.

"Charlie don't forget to–"

"Set the mousse before baking the meringue I know Mum," he rolled out as he placed a chilling charm around the pie.

She nodded, "And remember to–"

Charlie cut her off again, "Flip over the roasted veggies, blimey Mum I'm not daft."

From behind him he heard a soft sigh and felt the familiar pull of his mother as she ran her fingers through his hair. He leaned back with a content sigh.

"Oh I know, your mummy just worries about her babies sometimes."

He snorted at that, nearly thirty and she was still calling him her baby.

"Just sit Mum, I got dinner, talk to Gin, I know she's dying to brag about her week," he instructs gently.

Giving him a final affectionate shoulder squeeze, Molly makes way to the living room where her family sat and Charlie let out nearly silent, yet relieved gasp. He'd been figuratively holding his breath for the entire two days he had been back home, being around his mother not helping the situation. Not that his family made him nervous, often. More like he was wondering when to drop the bomb on her.

He was promoted.

Which great she'd love it, until he'd had to explain that he was promoted on the field, not to the office. After all it's all well to be a dragon trainer, he got to tend to dragons and help with their injuries and understand dragons greater than half the employees in the Romanian Headquarters, but dragon taming is what he's been working to for years. The pay was great, he was allowed to go out into the wild and tame wild dragons instead of just training the more domesticated one and he could deal with that deforestation problem that he's been advocating since he first got that apprenticeship to Romanian. Everything about it was perfect, except it meant more danger.

He'd finally be in the wild, be able to help out, but Dragon Tamers were three times more likely to retire early and two times more likely to die prematurely. He knew more statistics that made it worth it though.

Approximately 2 breeds of dragons became extinct each year. While ten breeds faced endangerment every three days. Reports of Dragon Poaching has reached an all time high since 2000. Just last month major food importer Radong was processed and the Swedish department were in charge of the inquiry against them of illegal and mass poaching. More than three workers from his unit were involved in the investigating, the processing and the evidence gathering of that particular case. According to Mira there were reports of cubs being drugged and their feet being cut off, they had two unicorns trapped and forced breed them without permits, dehorning. It's the worse case of animal abuse in fifty years. It was a disaster on an international scale and his blood boiled as twelve of Britain and America's best Magical Lawyers were on the defending side. Luckily he's met five of the twenty more than capable lawyers and officers helping with the court case due in four days.

All of that stress and anxiety aside, he was kinda glad to be home and away from the stress the case was causing for many workers. A week with the family, even with the saddest of reasonings was a worthwhile week. After all, family had always filled him with the sensation of completion. Even with missing pieces and guilt– he breathes and gathers the processed bread. He needs to finish dinner by the time Fred and George arrive, no doubt they'll be the last one in– or, during a stretch Hermione, Harry and Ron. Charlie sighed and decided to focus just on dinner, if it he mucked dinner up Mum would kill him, 'specially after the fuss he kicked up to cook by himself.

**Arms back. Head high. Smile.**

August 15th 2001, 3:06PM.  
Central London, England.  
On A Crowded Street.

Hermione sighed with something like discontent as she left her foundation science course at one of the local community colleges. As a child she imagined that at 21 years of age she'd be more. At 7 she was dead set on becoming a performer. She wanted to see the world and discover cultures, dance the different dancing styles and sing the unfamiliar hymns. However the allure wore out fast as she was faced with pesky bullies and too harsh teachers and parents who always expected more from her. At 10 she decided to become a detective. Her parents praised the idea, told her to not let her intelligence go to waste. That she was more than second row fodder that leapt about on stage. She grinned at them like the insult never hurt, hung her leotards up and rarely ever touched them again. Nancy Drew was her obsession that year, so there was that, until magic.

It seemed magic was a defining point in her life. The cross of before and after. The gulf in perceptions, prejudices and possibilities.

Before magic life was like so:

A set of bullet-points meant to be bulldozed. Goals to be conquered.

Become an officer.

Become a detective.

Make money.

Buy a house.

Fall in love.

The ticking of boxes that had created her prepubescent life. Then, after magic, nothing was ever the same.

There were fewer boxes to keep her in, higher and longer horizons to reach. Capabilities beyond belief.

Yet here she was 21, in a mess of a relationship, living life paycheck to paycheck as she studied at a community college she'd never once considered in her life. Before War and everything going astronomically out of orbit, she'd thought magic had been the best thing in the world. The Socrates of her life. The be all and end all of all that is wondrous. Of course she thought that, she had no experience to base magic off of except for the fairy tales she lived by. But the realities of the Magical World were far from the pleasantness she'd first associated and came to know of the Magical World.

Magic had taken the careful love her parents had gifted her. Wrapped it up in shiny layers of ignorance and secrets. Looked at the pure emotional bonds she had, though frayed as they'd become over the years, and severed it. Forced her hand to cut them from her life and though she found them and tried to make them love her like they once did, the betrayal of forcing new lives onto them and the fear of the unknown had strained their relationship too much. As of now, 2001, a five minute phone call or a tense lunch/dinner were all the bonding they had. Birthday cards were sent, as were Christmas' but the hole where there was trust, was too wide to mend with pleasantries.

Magic had taken Harry with the too wide, too innocent green eyes and broken him into scattered pieces. A man held together by other's need for him to survive. Lost in despair and nightmares and clear vials and therapy sessions that do very little. She misses when she could walk behind Harry quietly without immediately having a wand thrusted at her jugular.

Magic had taken Ron, kind, funny, loyal. Had turned him into someone he's not. Put disorders where there were just his large appetite and his stupid smile. Taken fragments of his literal body, jagged scars where there were only freckles. Of everyone she's lost in the war, more than her parents, more than Michael or Viktor, more than Harry. Losing Ron felt a lot more.

More real. More hurtful. More surprising.

The pieces where the before-parents and the before-Harry disappeared were obvious to place. The night she stole their identities and the days after he lost Sirius. Two point-blank moments where magic had changed two important people in her life. It wasn't like that with Ron.

Ron never had a big moment in her life where she felt him slip away before her very eyes. Ron never slipped away, not fully. He was still the Ron who made her laugh breathlessly. The Ron who made her erratic and flustered beyond belief. Ron with deep blue eyes and the smirk that sent her into over-drive. But then she flicks her wrist one too little times and he's not that Ron. He's a Ron obsessed with a perfection he could never find and a need to control he could never sate.

A year after his diagnosis and Hermione still couldn't believe it. Ron was normal. Compared to Hermione who screamed when people so much as jerked her wrist or Harry who lashed out whenever people talked to him on the wrong days. He kept everything together for so long following the war. Maybe a little more quiet. Maybe a little more impulsive. A little less put together. But. He was normal. Normal for as long as she'd known him and now he wasn't. Maybe if he was born with OCD she'd understand. If these habits had resided below the surface too long for them to have noticed it fully, but it didn't happen like that.

The healers have explained over a dozen times what was really up with Ron. Mental duress, caused by PTSD and untreated curses and charms piling up over the years. It wasn't one thing. It was the wand that wasn't his that always backfired. It was the War he never wanted to fight in. The knocks to the heads. The confounds charms and the expelliarmus ricocheting him off of walls and over bricks. Confusion charms to lure in the best friend of The-Chosen-One and that stupid love potion they'd never correctly ejected from his body.

There were so many factors into losing Ron and she felt that little bit more, because she had hope for him. Because Ron didn't deserve to be lost. He wasn't the Boy Who Lived or a Muggle Born who would suffer thanks to Voldemort. He was a pureblood wizard, a someone who could have ran and could have lived and a someone she loved too much.

Hermione hated thinking about her life in moments like these and she hated how thinking about her life happened more than living it. So, she sighed and straightened her shoulders, flicked her hair and crack. She was gone. She needed to be dressed and showered soon.

**Two peas, no pods.**

August 15th 2001, 4:45PM  
Devon, England.  
Ottery St Catchpole, The Burrow.

George liked arriving to places either fashionably late, or barely skimming it to the nick of time.

When he arrives home everyone's there. The shitty Toyota Ron, Mione and Harry had bought two or so months back is parked at back. He'd spotted Ginny's shoes at the door and there was no doubt Charlie, Bill, Fleur and little Victoire were around, probably had been around for a few days. Fred– Fred's probably home. He hesitates at the door, heaves a sigh and pushes the door open.

"Aye!" Ron shouts happily, wry grin in place and arms crossed, tapping impatiently on his shirt.

"Forgot to feed Ronniekins didja Harry?" He spits out before anything else.

"Wotcher George," is Harry's quiet reply.

Victoire gives him a long stare, before turning back to Ginny, who looked rather puzzled as she attempted to braid her nieces hair. It was unsurprisingly disastrous. Charlie hollers a great big, teasing welcome and Bill gives a nod of his head before turning to Fred. Fred doesn't even look at him.

Ron is with Harry, Hermione talking to dad and disgustingly enough Mum's in Dad's lap.

"Merlin you two have whole house to yourselves and you still choose to sit on each other while we're around," he jokes.

"I think dat et is lo-vely," Fleur declares.

Bill nods his head in habit and Ron and Harry snicker to themselves.

"I'm with George on this one, yuck," Ginny says.

Victoire repeats the yuck in the same amused tone and Ginny looks stunned as Bill and Fleur focus in on her, doing the magical parent guilt trip they'd learned.

It's not as terrible as he'd expected. Like actions wise. Feeling wise it was worse. Fred was ignoring him. Full out no acknowledgement. George thought he might have bitched and moaned, thrown snide remarks and they might have that awkward stare-off argument only they could manage. But, he didn't even look in George's general direction. As if George wasn't anything to him. Ouch. Twenty three years of being everything to each other and now, not even a punch to the face.

Did George want to get punched in the face? He's not sure, but he feels shitty and guilty and angry and too stubborn to say a damn thing. With a tight face he marches to where Harry and Ron stand and enrich on their conversation. Harry is still quiet in the way that says he's not sure if he's allowed to speak after all the shit he's said in the past, but Ron's no bars. Crude and funny, yet the odd poignant topic might pop up and George relaxes into the night. Yeah, he could handle this.

He tries not to focus on what-once was and the anxiety he feels at the prospect of losing another brother. It's surprisingly easy when the family is together and almost whole, as if the cracks they all had just blended seamlessly into each other.

**History: A Look Into What Was and What is:**

**A.K.A Arthur and Molly and what lead to:**  
August 15th 2001, 5:30PM  
Devon, England.  
Ottery St Catchpole, The Burrow.

Losing someone was decidedly too easy for Molly and Arthur Weasley.

Molly was all of nine when her older sister ran off with the negro fellow down the lane. At eleven her father had gone to get some polish for Uncle Ignatius and was dead the next time she saw him. Tragedy was a distant companion of hers. Auntie Charlotte died of cancer when she was thirteen and even as her friends worried about the older lads and quidditch scores, she was busy meeting Death and Despair. Oddly enough Aunt Muriel managed to avoid every moment of despair by the skin of her neck.

Arthur grew up in a too large family. Rumour had it the Weasley family were doomed for reproduction and slaughter. None of his nine older siblings made it past the age of 25. There was a whopping fifteen year age gap between the youngest, his little brother Bilius and their older twin siblings Cassio and Petra. Benjamin, child number two hadn't even made it past two. Artemis, his baby sister died at two months.

Never has there been two families more laden with sadness than the Weasley-Prewett families. Even the summarised version of their history was a tragic tale to tell.

Overall the Weasley-Prewett family history was rife with grief. Yet as wild children, months away from their twenties, they had fallen deeply, madly and truly in love. Between fighting and passionate nights dancing at the local pubs and taverns, they made love and little over five months later, they eloped to Scotland, uncaring of the curse said to befall all Weasley children of the Black-Weasley family.

They had never planned on children though.

Bill was a wonderful surprise that made tears fall nightly. Arthur hadn't cared if he died in the next five years and Molly was planning to die in the steadily brewing danger lurking around every corner in London. She'd have fought any war thoughtlessly, recklessly, bravely as any other person content in the knowledge that misery was permanent and happiness temporary. Arthur was content to let life take him anywhere, he cared little of the destination and believed solely in the journey. But children were different.

Suddenly Molly had a reason to hope for a future and Arthur couldn't be content with just living. They needed to survive.

Arthur stopped his work as a budding potions master, the fumes, chemicals and unexpected explosions too much to bare. He worked at the Ministry, first as a drifter with nothing to do, then later as a researcher.

Molly quits the Auror internship she had gained under Mad-Eye, and was he ever disappointed and furious with her.

They let their teenage ambitions fall, become adults and gain new interest, care too much for children they may never see grow up. A year passes. Two. Charlie is born. They're still fearful, both still twenty two and unsure. Could very well die with the flick of someone's wrist. But another year passes. Then two. And three. Arthur breaks whatever curse their family held.

He lives past twenty five. And only some few years later Percy is born and the Weasley family live. Wholly. Happily. Safe from the sadness that had tainted the matriarch and patriarchs lives.

Then without fail, there's loss.

Fabian first.

Gideon not too far after.

Scattered across their adult lives are countless deaths, their parents, more aunts and uncles and cousins, speckled death notices across the years.

They both stopped sobbing long before Fabian and Gideon though. Only some tears, most of the time a huge sigh of hurt.

Then Percy and...

Percy.

Their baby boy Percy who they hurt and pushed from their lives. Who they taught to walk, to talk and read. Who they taught to walk away from emotions, because for all they've grown they're still terrible at showing love. Sweet little Percy with doe blue eyes, who studied the callouses on Molly's hands with fascination. Who read to his father during exhausting days spent at the Ministry and their baby boy. Their Percy gone.

And suddenly they're in their twenties again, the hurt ever prominent, as if it never left. And it takes a little while for them to cancel the search parties and to gather the stuff still in the flat that belonged to their son and his someone. He had a wife, or a girlfriend. A special someone. A woman who left her clothes at his house and her perfumes and her name was Audrey. The name was printed in books that didn't have their meticulous son signed all over them. She died, or moved and left too many clothes with their son, because he boxed her belongings into thin boxes and pushed them into closets so he would never see them again.

He disappeared without a trace.

He leaves no mention of whatever happened to him.

There are gaps and hints, like books taken from the shelf leaving them lopsided where they should be tidied and ordered. A whole room bare, save for plush carpets and mirrors and posters with motivational slogans. Even with that they couldn't determine whether he died, or was kidnapped or ran away so they let their son go. Painfully. Slowly. Then all at once.

Save for one day, a week before his birthday. Save for one day, the day they let him go.

On this day they gather their fractured family from all the corners they've disappeared to and eat. Strained tales and watery smiles and this is the Weasley family history they've never told their children.

The tale of a broken family, sitting around a table with sadness deeply seeded in their stomach and naive hope still blooming in their chest.

"Well go on dearies, dig in," Molly offers with a wry smile.

To her left Arthur lays his hand on top of hers and like a familiar puzzle their fingers fit together and they share each other's strength.

None of their children notice the intimacy, their dinner is loud and at times awkward, but growing in conversations and pleasantries and beneath it all, Molly and Arthur gaze at each other. Brown meet blue and they can only think, 'I love you.'

* * *

**I went off tangent. A lot. Hence the reason this took forever, despite being written halfway last time I updated.(I blame George and Harry, they took aaages to write.) I used the word negro, period typical I was thinking, Idk if ppl think it's offensive. Sorry if so. No offence meant... Question, what even are sub titles? Bc I can't name to save my life. Also 'scuse the sappiness, idk what happened. Anyway, hey and thanks for reading.**


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